


Guilty I May Be (but don't give up on me)

by HaniTrash



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Feels, Avengers Tower, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Bucky/Asset personality swaps, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark Steve Rogers, Dubious Consent Due To Identity Issues, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Handler Steve Rogers, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Infidelity, Like so much angst, M/M, Panic Attacks, Possessive Bucky Barnes, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Steve Rogers Has Issues, Steve Rogers is thinking with his dick, Steve and Bucky's relationship is complicated, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, and lots of sex, and that makes so many problems, bucky and steve aren't officially together when it happens, but it's not major?, moderate BDSM, stucky trash party, this descends into so much fluff i'm sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2020-07-12 13:04:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 25
Words: 77,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19946635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HaniTrash/pseuds/HaniTrash
Summary: Shortly after the fall of SHIELD, the Avengers receive intel on the location of the Winter Soldier. Steve convinces the others to rescue him and bring him back to the Tower. He didn't expect the road to Bucky's recovery to be so difficult, and has to fall into the role of Handler as Bucky continues to think and act like the Asset. What he never counted on was liking the role as much as he does. But when Bucky wakes fully and confronts Steve on his actions, can their friendship be salvaged? Has Steve destroyed any trust Bucky had left to give? On the long road to recovery, as Bucky's relationship with the rest of the Avengers grows, can he and Steve find their way back to each other?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [a long way from where you thought you would be](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19292194) by [HaniTrash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HaniTrash/pseuds/HaniTrash). 



> This work is a rewrite of my previous work, "a long way from where you thought you would be," written for a Stucky Fistposting (Defrost) facebook group writing prompt. After I finished that piece, I really wished I'd pushed harder, made it darker, and really gotten into a longer recovery and how The Asset would behave/interact with the team as his conditioning broke down, and how that would affect Steve (because let's face it, he's fun to torture). And, because I can't just ignore those types of plot bunnies, this happened, lol. It's much longer than I had anticipated, and took some very unexpected turns as I was going, but I hope you like it!

The fight raged around him as the Asset remained confined to the chair. The doctors had all run off, nobody bothering to unstrap him or disconnect anything. At least they’d flipped the switch as they fled, and the machine wasn’t continuing to deliver shocks to him while he listened to the shouts and gunfire, helpless to assist. Finally, the door to the room burst open and a man entered. He was taller than his normal handler, appeared younger, and wore a different uniform than Rumlow and his team.

The Asset went on alert, prepared to fight this man, part of him screaming about an unfinished mission, he couldn’t fail again, HYDRA’s success depended on him. But then he met ice blue eyes, as blue as the sky on a cloudless day over the ocean, and felt... _something_...stir within him, a flicker of recognition, an order that overrode the previous command of _kill_.

A strangled sound came from the man and then he rushed to the Asset’s side, unclamping his arms and legs, releasing the strong magnetic cuffs that held his arm down, ripping the segments away from his head.

“Bucky? Bucky, can you hear me?”

_Bucky?_ Must be they needed a code name for him this mission.

“Ready to comply, sir.”

“ _Com_ —? Okay,” he said, cutting off whatever he’d been about to say. “We need to go. Now. Can you walk?” he asked, pulling the Asset from the chair.

“Yes sir.” He glanced off to the side table, where the rest of his uniform and many of his weapons remained, having been brought in in readiness. There was an important mission they needed him for...he quickly strapped everything on, checking gun safeties and cartridges as he shoved them into their slots almost absentmindedly. The man watched him intently, a mix of concern and desperation on his face.

“Good to go?” he asked, as the Asset slipped the last knife into its hiding place.

“Yes, sir. Where is the threat? My target?”

The sounds of fighting had diminished significantly, but he could still hear pockets of resistance in the distance. The man—he really wished he could remember his name, but that damned chair had only run a half cycle and nobody had been there to brief him before his handler arrived—looked frustrated. The Asset was about to explain the problem when the man spoke, and he knew better than to speak over his handlers.

“Your mission is to stay alive. Anyone shooting at us is the enemy. HY—HYDRA, this base, has been compromised and must be brought down. The rest of my team is out there, and they need our help. Got it?”

“Yes sir.”

The Asset pulled the gun from between his shoulders and flipped the safety as he made for the door.

_This new team is good,_ the Asset thought as he took in the bodies littering the halls and visible in rooms. _Better than STRIKE, even._ He didn’t have much cleanup to do, and it both impressed and infuriated him. They reached the exit with him only having killed a handful of men.

“Are you with me, Buck?”

The Asset shook his head, blinked his eyes, focused on the man. He still couldn’t remember his name, but he didn’t dare admit that. The Asset couldn’t remember the introduction, the handoff, but he was _sure_ it had happened. His only real evidence for this was the unshakable belief, his complete confidence, in the fact that he must protect this man at all costs. But that wouldn’t have been drilled into him if it hadn’t happened. And sometimes, after the chair, he forgets small things like this. Like names. But not faces, not feelings.

They’d made sure of that.

So if every fiber of his being was screaming to follow this man, he would.

Even if he was calling him a strange new code name.

The Asset nods, falls into line behind him, scans his gear as someone approaches and speaks with his handler. _Cap_ , the man in the leather with a bow and arrows calls him. Yes, that sounds right. _Cap, short for Captain._

“She says she’ll meet us there. She’s going to go through some files, get what she can on him. There’s a lot in code, and I guess a good amount of it is in Russian?” The man with the bow glanced at the Asset before returning his gaze to _Cap_. The Asset thought a bow and arrow were an odd choice, given all the available weapons, but he’d also seen plenty of bodies with arrows sticking out of them as they’d made their way through the base, so he clearly was useful. “She and Stark are uploading everything they think is useful to JARVIS.”

“Understood.”

The Asset clears his throat.

“St— _sir?_ ” he calls, and he hears the uncertainty in his own voice. He’d almost said a different name, but he wasn’t sure what it was or why he’d felt compelled to say it.

Cap turns, a surprised look on his face.

“Everything okay, Buck?”

“Here, take this,” he says, pulling a gun from his belt and flipping it around, practically shoving it into his hand. He sees the arrow-man immediately tense, watching him, but he doesn’t pull his hand back. It is imperative Cap take the gun, after all.

“Buck?” Cap asks, clearly questioning his actions.

“You’ve lost your sidearm. Take it.”

Cap searches the Asset’s face, looks down at the gun held out to him.

“Okay, Buck. Okay. Thanks.”

The Asset’s eyebrows twitch in his confusion at _Cap’s_ confusion and hesitation. But he took the gun, which made the Asset relax, and breathe easier, because he’d be damned if he’d get into trouble because some newbie handler didn’t remember the rules.

“You can put your own gun away now, you know. Our scans show the base is clear.”

The Asset quickly follows the order, though he remains alert for threats until the plane has lifted off.

*****

“We need to scan your arm. Make sure there’s no trackers or...whatever...in it.”

The Asset shrugged. He was used to maintenance. He lifted his arm and held it steady while Cap readied the device he needed. A three-dimensional display of his arm and the inner workings of it suddenly appeared in the air, which did startle him slightly. This new team had significantly better tech than HYDRA. Suddenly he wasn’t entirely comfortable with not remembering the transfer, though he wasn’t complaining about the upgrade in the abilities of his teammates.

“Alright, what the hell am I looking at here, Tony?” Cap asked of literally nobody. It was just him and the Asset in the back of the jet, with arrow-guy piloting. So when a voice came out of nowhere, the Asset jumped, head spinning wildly trying to find the source. He decided it was coming from the wall of screens, though that didn’t settle him one bit.

“Well, based on what Jarvis is seeing there, and what little red riding hood and I have found in these files, a whole lot of old Russian tech with some crazy HYDRA upgrades at random. But surprisingly, no signs of a self-destruct or any tracking or remote access receiver. I think you’re good to go. Bring your boy home, Cap.”

“Thank you,” Cap said, and the Asset heard the slight tremble in his voice.

The one answering to Tony and speaking from nowhere started talking again.

“I have the place on lockdown until we see how he is, and get him acclimated. Clint says he’s responding well to you, so that’s a good sign.”

Cap glanced over at him, and gave an encouraging smile.

“He’s the toughest guy I know. He’ll pull through.”

The Asset was thoroughly confused, which wasn’t necessarily a new state of being for him. But he felt like he was missing something extremely important here, that revolved around himself, and he didn’t like that one bit.

He sat in a stony silence for the remainder of the ride, watching Cap from the corner of his eye as he tried to plumb the depths of his addled memories to figure out why this man was so important.

“Two minutes out, guys,” arrow-guy called, snapping the Asset’s attention back to the present.

“Bucky,” Cap called, and he lifted his gaze to meet those blue eyes again. At some point he’d taken his helmet off, and the Asset saw a shock of blond hair on top of his head. As he took in Cap’s face, with the strong jaw and slightly crooked nose—it’d been broken, clearly, _when we were kids?_ —his heart began to race to match his increased breathing.

“Hey, you okay, pal?” The concern— _actual concern, not anger for not responding immediately, this new guy is so green, what the fuck—_ on Cap’s face and in his voice shook the Asset to his core.

“Bucky?” Cap squatted down directly in front of him, one hand on his knee.

The Asset shook his head, cleared his throat.

“Yes, sir. Sorry sir. Trying to remember the briefing. The doctors weren’t able to complete the procedure to clear my head. Where is Commander Rumlow? Shouldn’t he be with you on your first mission with me?”

Cap swallowed hard, telegraphing the answer before he even spoke. This man had a terrible habit of giving away his thoughts and feelings in his body language and on his face. The Asset had already ascertained that he couldn’t lie for shit.

“Commander Rumlow is dead. HYDRA has fallen. I’m going to take care of you now. You’re safe with me, Bucky. With my team. Do you remember me at all?”

“I failed...”

“No, Bucky. No. You didn’t fail. You performed your missions well. What happened to HYDRA was not because of anything you did or didn’t do. My team brought it down from the inside.”

“Cap, what am I doing here? We good to land or what?”

Cap turned his head to speak to arrow-guy and the Asset saw the faint hues of lingering bruises surrounding Cap’s eye, barely visible beneath the surface, and the silvery white lines of fresh new skin from recently healed cuts on that high cheekbone.

“Gimme just a minute, Clint.”

The Asset tipped his head to the side, studying Cap’s face, feeling his own brows draw together in concentration. Without realizing it, his arm snaked forward, metal fingertips ghosting over the injuries. Cap slowly turned his head forward to face the Asset again.

“I failed... _you_. You were my mission. But—” he paused, frowning, swallowing down his hesitation. Cap seemed to encourage him to speak, unlike Rumlow or Pierce. “But I stopped. Because...I know you. Just not in here,” he said, forcefully jamming a finger into the side of his head repeatedly.

Cap brought a hand up to cover the Asset’s metal hand, cupping it against his cheek fully. The Asset sucked in a sharp breath. He wasn’t supposed to touch his handlers unless they were sparring or he was delivering medical attention.

“It’s okay, Bucky. We’ll figure it out. Together. I’m with you, pal.”

The words tugged at something inside him, he felt it somehow in his chest and his head at the same time, and his lips parted, words falling from them in a whisper.

“Til the end of the line,” he said, and Cap nearly breaks down in front of him.

“Yeah, that’s right, Buck. That’s right. I’ve got you, buddy. Til the end of the line.”

Cap’s bottom lip is trembling, and the Asset somehow _knows_ this man, knows him in ways he can’t remember, and that certainty enrages him, though he doesn’t show it. Right now, he has to be strong to protect Cap. Because Cap is hurt. It may not be physical, but the Asset can recognize the fact that Cap is in no condition to be in the field. So he’ll keep him safe. It’s his job. It’s what he’s always done—protect Cap. That was always the prime mission, above all others. He remembers that much. Protect this man, keep him safe, no matter the cost.

Til the end of the line.

Whatever that means.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used google translate for the Russian, so if any of it is wrong, my apologies!

The Asset looks back and forth between Cap and the pile of clothes he holds in his arms.

“Why?” he asks. He’s more concerned about the break in protocol than he is about the ramifications of questioning his handler. Being out of uniform and not ready to fight is definitely not allowed. The only times it’s allowed are when he’s showering, having maintenance performed, serving as stress relief, sparring, or being punished. What Cap is telling him to do...regular clothing? Standing down, remaining awake with no mission, no punishment, no _use_? None of it is right.

“Because there is no threat here. This is our _home_. You don’t—” Cap was interrupted by the buzzing of his phone in the pocket of his civilian clothes. “What?” he snapped as he answered it. The Asset’s enhanced hearing caught the sound of a woman’s voice, and watched the way Cap’s body visibly relaxed at something she said. “Yes, thank you...yeah, my floor...okay.”

They stood staring at each other in silence in the middle of the sitting area, Cap with his arms folded across his chest, the clothes now in a pile at the Asset’s feet, and the Asset standing at ease, refusing to pick them up for fear of reprisal. The soft _ping_ of the elevator opening drew Cap’s eyes away and his face relaxed, though his stance never changed.

“Thanks for coming, Nat.”

The Asset turned his gaze to the woman striding purposefully into the room. She wore skin-tight black leather head to toe and had startlingly red hair, a sharp contrast to her dark clothing and pale skin. Again, he felt the pull of memory, recognition, as he studied her, and felt himself standing at attention in response to her presence.

“солдат, отчет о состоянии!” she snapped out, and a curious sensation of relief flooded him at the command. _Soldier, status report!_

“готов соблюдать,” he answered, tension seeping from his body even as he prepared himself for instructions. _Ready to comply._

“ _Then comply!_ ” She stood toe-to-toe with him, so much larger than her tiny frame, formidable in her confidence as she barked at him in Russian. Odd, how such a simple thing as the right language could calm him so. _“You are to follow this man’s instructions, do as he tells you. So why are you still in uniform, soldier?”_

The Asset swallowed, glanced over her shoulder to Cap, and quickly returned his attention to her.

“ _His orders are contrary to all previous instructions.”_

“ _His orders are now the only ones that matter.”_

The Asset shifted slightly on his feet as fear, deeply seeded in his subconscious, tried to overwhelm him.

“ _Soldier?”_

“ _Is this a test, sir?”_ he whispers the words, afraid to ask, afraid of the punishment. This new team is so advanced from Rumlow’s, the tech they could conceivably have on hand to hurt him...he suppresses a shudder. _“More training? I will comply, I swear. Please, I don’t understand.”_

Her face softens as she studies him. He is aware of Cap’s distress behind her, but can’t focus on him at the moment. This woman appears to be his superior, at the very least she seems to understand the Asset, understand his confusion, his needs.

“ _Not a test, soldier. Not training. This is not HYDRA. You will not be punished for making mistakes here. He is...nothing you are used to. I am sorry for that, but he is also the only one best suited to handle you physically should the need arise.”_

*****

“Bucky, you need to stop this. Eat. Rest. Anything besides follow me around.”

The Asset stares at Cap. He’s heard other members of Cap’s unit refer to him by another name since their return from the mission, and something inside him had clicked at the name _Steve_ , but the Asset wasn’t allowed to call him that. He wasn’t allowed to use informal names.

“Can’t.”

“Why not?”

Cap is looming over him, hands on his hips, while the Asset sits on the floor outside Cap’s door, just as he’s done the previous two nights. He’s got a few fuzzy spots from those days, but he _knows_ he’d been doing his job properly and guarding Cap, silent at his side and waiting for instruction, either from him or from the Widow.

“Protocol!” the Asset snaps, pushing up to his feet. “I get that you’re new at this, but stop testing me! I haven’t forgotten any of the rules in a very, very long time. Even if my last session in the chair was interrupted!”

Cap froze, and the Asset saw what appeared to be understanding dawn in his eyes, followed immediately by sadness. _Sorry to disappoint, Cap, but I’m not getting ‘disciplined’ again any time soon._ The Asset catches himself from actually saying the words. Being tired is no excuse. As it is, his outburst should earn him a strike, and he braces for the hit that never comes. Instead, Cap swallows hard and closes his eyes for a few seconds. When he looks at the Asset again, he sees resignation in the blue depths and the firm set of his jaw.

“Asset,” Cap says softly, and the Asset immediately straightens himself, standing at attention. Cap sighs and buries his hands in his face. “S-, status report,” he orders, squaring his shoulders with a deep breath.

_Finally,_ the Asset thinks.

“Functional. At the current rate of exertion, I have two more nights before I am unsafe for use. If there is a mission between now and then, I will require a reset after. Supplement supply is low, but rationed and adequate for another three days, again, mission dependent.”

The muscles in Cap’s jaw tic, and the Asset again braces for reprimand.

“Asset,” Cap says, and this time his voice is hard, his eyes holding anger.

“Sir.”

“You are capable of showering, washing yourself, and feeding yourself, yes?”

“Yes.”

Cap nods.

“Good. So. I am _ordering—_ ” Cap’s voice breaks on the word, and the mask of anger slips for a moment, “—you to go to the kitchen and eat a sandwich. Make that two. And drink something while you’re in there. Bring another sandwich and a drink back to your room. Take a shower. Eat the other sandwich if you’re still hungry. And then _go to sleep_. You are to sleep every night and eat when you are hungry, at minimum twice a day. Drink as needed. You need more than just supplements to survive. This location is safe. I am in no danger here. If I need you I will come get you.”

The Asset stares at Cap. None of this follows typical procedure. However, the thought of food is quite welcomed. As is showering, especially if he’ll be alone. But as to the sleeping...

“Is there a problem?” Cap asks, and the Asset mentally shakes himself.

“No sir. Thank you sir.”

The Asset turns and strides down the hall, waiting for the inevitable laughter, the calling of him back, the snatching away of the dangled rewards that he didn’t think he’d earned in the first place, the punishment for daring to think he was allowed to do something for himself.

And if instead he hears a heart-wrenching sob behind him as the doors to the elevator open to admit him, he pretends not to hear it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen, this chapter surprised me as much as I'm sure it's going to surprise some of you. After I wrote the first interaction between Asset and Natasha, I was blindsided by this idea and it definitely works for the story. So, sorry not sorry? I promise there's Steve/Bucky action in this story as well. :)

Steve waits until the elevator has closed behind Bucky to reach for his phone.

_Are you free?_ he sends.

_My floor in ten?_ comes the reply, almost instantaneous, and he wonders if he’s the only one in need tonight.

_I’ll be there in five._

_I need a shower first._

_Like I haven’t seen it before?_

_Is that really the distraction you need?_

_Dunno. You’ve got four minutes to find out._

He ran his shaking hands through his hair and turned all the lights off except the one in the hallway. He’d left some lights on the last two nights in case Bucky had woken and needed him. He now wondered if perhaps Bucky had seen them on and thought he’d needed to stay awake. Either way, hopefully turning them off would get him to sleep in his own room. He didn’t feel like having to worry about accidentally waking him when he returned.

Steve was sitting on Natasha’s couch smoking a cigarette when she exited her bathroom eight minutes later.

“You’re late,” he said, smirking and looking pointedly at the clock on the wall.

“Couldn’t even bother with a shirt, huh?” she asked, eyeing him and ignoring the statement.

“Not like many people are awake and roaming the halls at this time of night. And you’ve all seen me shirtless.”

Natasha straddled his lap, pulling the cigarette from his hand and taking a drag.

“You want to talk about it?”

“Later.”

“You’re here at one-thirty a.m. and with cigarettes. You’re fucking talking about it, Rogers.” Natasha held the cigarette to his lips and he took a long drag, holding the smoke as long as he could, only exhaling when she leaned to the side to tap the ash into the ashtray.

“I said later. This first,” he said, slipping his hands under the edges of her robe. She shifted her position and the silky red material fell open, revealing her bare skin, still warm from the shower.

“Didn’t think I’d be getting this call so soon,” she breathed into his ear as he teased two fingers through her folds and toyed with her.

“Don’t know why,” he answered, nuzzling her neck as he drove his fingers into her welcoming heat.

“Thought you might be a little preoccupied,” she said with another exhale of smoke.

“Said I don’t want to talk about it yet.”

A moan escaped her as he crooked his fingers and dragged them over the magic spot.

“Christ, Steve, get your damned shorts off.”

He didn’t hide his grin as he lifted his hips. Natasha pressed the cigarette to his lips again and he took it from her as she pulled his pants down just enough to free his cock.

“You first,” she said, like always, and like every other time they fucked, Natasha slid down to the floor to take him in her mouth. She knew he needed more than one release, that he could go on for much longer than was necessary for _any_ man to go, and always sought to give him as much as she could. Some nights that was more than others, and she seemed to understand that tonight was a quick and dirty night, a venting of anger and frustration, not a marathon of built-up tension release.

Steve let his head fall back and rocked his hips into her ministrations, taking the last pull off the cigarette. He met her eyes as he stubbed it out and she doubled down on her efforts, bringing him off in no time, and milking him through his extremely short recovery period.

She climbed back up onto his lap and guided him inside, breath hitching when he grabbed her hips and snapped up into her.

“It’s like that tonight, huh?”

“It’s like that,” he growled, pulling her flush against him. She always topped him—he was afraid of getting carried away and hurting her, so regardless of his need, she was in control as much as possible. She braced her hands on the back of the couch and began riding him, fucking him as hard as she could as he held her hips. Natasha was perfect like that, always able to read Steve’s moods, anticipate his needs, and give him exactly what he needed. Hell, if he thought she’d settle down some day, he’d try to keep her. But Natasha was kept only by herself, and he knew that even though she enjoyed their times together, they were too different to be together.

“Fuck, Nat,” he groaned as he came, head thrown back against the couch. She grinned and slowed her pace, but never stopped, again milking him through the rebound until she was panting, soft sounds of pleasure that let him know she was close.

“You got one more for me, Rogers?”

It was a tease, he _always_ had one more, but it was part of their dance.

“Why, you gonna finish without me?” He reached up and caught a nipple between his thumb and forefinger, giving it a firm tug.

“Fuck, Steve, c’mon, I’m—” Natasha cried out, her back arching as she fell away from him, trusting him to hold her. His orgasm followed on the heels of hers, and he froze, his forehead pressed to her stomach as they remained locked together in some sort of bizarre acrobatic hold until he straightened and she collapsed against his chest.

“Damn, I needed that too.”

“You know, _you_ are allowed to call _me_ , once in a while. If you weren’t so willing I’d feel like a jerk.” He lit another cigarette and leaned back, his free hand rubbing a gentle caress up and down her back.

She held her hand out and he passed the cigarette over. Aside from JARVIS (which meant possibly Tony, and definitely Pepper,) Natasha was the only person who knew Steve still smoked on occasion. Of course, they didn’t do anything for him or to him, but when he was particularly stressed he still had a few. The shared cigarettes were as close as he and Nat got to kissing. It was like an unspoken agreement between them, as if that would somehow change the nature of their relationship. She’d occasionally give him a quick peck on the cheek, and of course there were plenty of times he’d left her room with his chest covered in bite marks, but kissing was a line they didn’t cross.

Steve pressed a kiss now to the top of her head and let out a heavy sigh as he rested his cheek there, an uncharacteristic show of emotion, of his appreciation for what she did for him.

“I need your help, Nat. Tell me how to be his handler. He’s still trapped in there. He still thinks he’s the Asset, the Winter Soldier. I think I’m hurting him by not understanding. By giving him too many choices.”

Two hours and a few more orgasms later, Steve opened the door of Natasha’s room to be met by a pair of stormy gray eyes glaring at him from the wall opposite. A wave of guilt washed over him, even though he knew he had nothing to be guilty of. After all, it wasn’t like he and Bucky were together right now. Bucky was still lost, buried beneath layers and years of brainwashing, and Steve was not about to initiate a relationship with the Asset and further complicate matters. Especially not in less than a week of his rescue from the hands of HYDRA.

Bucky eyed him up and down and Steve squared his shoulders, hardening his resolve and setting his face into a firm mask as he strode past Bucky and to the elevator.

“If you needed a release you should have said something. I can do that for you,” Bucky said. Steve heard him inhale deeply. “You stink.”

Steve rounded on him, getting right in his face. A small part of him hated himself for it, but more than that, he was _angry_ at Bucky. How _dare_ he judge Steve’s actions? How _dare_ he get upset at Steve being with Natasha, when their entire teens and twenties before the war were spent with an endless parade of women on Bucky’s arm, on his dick, on his lips, on that body that belonged to _Steve_ , not some random floosie of the day.

“I don’t recall needing your permission, _soldier_. In fact, I seem to remember giving you explicit instructions to return to your room and shower and sleep. I don’t smell any soap on you, though, now do I? Yet you think you get to make a comment about the state that _I’m_ in? You think you get to disobey orders because _why_?”

The fear in Bucky’s eyes broke Steve’s heart, but he couldn’t let down. Natasha’s advice still rang in his ears, shouted as some of the words had been as Steve had coaxed another orgasm from her with his tongue. It always brought him some sort of perverse joy to test her, to see how focused he could keep her on something else as he held her at the edge for as long as possible. _Stay strong. Don’t let him see any weakness. He’ll exploit that, turn it around and manipulate you to get his way. You need to keep him grounded in what he knows until we can break the programming._

Bucky shrank in on himself, posture immediately turning submissive and his eyes dropping to the floor.

“I’m sorry, sir. I—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” he interrupted. The elevator had long since arrived at Steve’s floor, the doors standing open, waiting patiently for them to exit. “You were given your orders. Go to your room and stay there. I don’t want to see your face before oh-nine-hundred. Is that understood, _Asset_?”

“Yes, sir.” Bucky’s voice was barely a whisper, but Steve could hear the tremble in it, see the slight shake of his body.

Without another word, Steve spun on his heel and stormed for his room before he lost control of himself. He slammed the door behind him and turned and punched the wall for good measure. It wasn’t for Bucky’s benefit, but for his own. He wasn’t sure he could hate himself more than he did right then for the scared, broken husk of his best friend that he’d just left standing helplessly in that elevator.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to wait until Monday to post this, but then I figured I'd put it up here today since I'll be out of town all day and evening, so if y'all start yelling at me I'll be too busy to read the comments until tomorrow, lol.


	4. Chapter 4

“Bucky, you don’t need to guard me while I’m working out.” Despite having to _handle_ his best friend, Steve still had a hard time calling him ‘Asset’ unless it was absolutely necessary.

“I’m not guarding. I am assessing.”

“Assessing?” Steve pauses from his assault on the punching bag—number five this morning—and turns to look at Bucky. The man has been slowly circling the room, watching him while Steve first lifted weights, and then started in on the heavy bag. Clint was hanging around to spar with him, but Steve needed to drain himself first.

“Yes. Form, function, training. I need to know where your weaknesses are in order to help you better. To do my job.”

“Your job?”

“Yes, my job. Protect you. To do that, I must know you better than anybody else. Must know you better than I know myself.” Bucky pauses and cants his head to the side, as if something has just occurred to him. “Surely, you know this? It is my ultimate function. To be completely indispensable to you. Be your right hand. Your shadow. Your ultimate weapon.”

“You understand that I am enhanced as well? I know how to fight.”

“You are good at fighting, yes. But not as good as you should be. You aren’t skilled with any weapons. You can shoot, but not like me. You can’t use knives. I have much to teach you. I don’t know how you made it this far with such little tactical expertise.”

Steve feels as if his head is going to explode from this conversation. He walks over to his water bottle, tapping out a message on his phone as he drinks.

_Need to talk ASAP. And ALONE._

Natasha’s reply comes about a minute later:

_Roof in fifteen?_

_I’ll bring the drinks,_ he sends back immediately.

_Oof, that bad?_

_Worse._

  
  


Steve is on the roof in five minutes after ordering Bucky to remain in the gym and do a one hour workout.

Natasha is already there.

She cocks an eyebrow at the bottle in his hand.

“You ask to meet and bring me a bottle of premium Russian vodka from Tony’s stash at ten in the morning. You trying to woo me or something, Rogers?”

“You’ve broken brainwashing before, right? On yourself, and on Clint when Loki controlled him with the scepter.” He tossed the bottle to her as he headed for the railing, staring out over the city below them.

“It’s not easy. It’s gonna take time. Certainly longer than a couple weeks, if they’ve been doing it for over half a century.”

Steve sighed and leaned back into her as her arms came around his waist.

“I can’t fucking do this, Nat. It’s killing me. I have to order him— _order my best friend—_ to eat. To sleep. To do anything! He expects punishment for making a mistake, doing something that I don’t like. He thinks he’s not allowed to do anything without explicit direction and permission.” He pulled a small flask from his pocket as she slipped her hand inside his pants.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he groaned, a combination of the taste of the liquor and the way she ground against his ass while giving his dick a sharp tug.

“F-bombs and Thor’s special liquor. You really are overwhelmed, aren’t you?”

“I just want my friend back. The man who sleeps outside my door every night because he thinks he has to protect and guard me is _not_ Bucky. _Oh God, yes,”_ he gasped when she teased a finger around the rim of his hole.

“ _Tonight_ ,” she promised, biting down hard into his shoulder blade, and he shuddered as the pain tipped him over, already, she was so damned _good_ at playing his body, and so willing to give him what he needed.

“Wish I had my cigarettes,” he grumbled after, as they sat drinking in silence, his boxers growing uncomfortably stiff as his come dried, and he was thankful he’d worn his loose-fitting _black_ sweatpants to the gym today. Natasha just grinned and took another swig of vodka, waiting for him to say whatever else he still needed to unload.

“You know what he did last night? He brought me paper and some pencils. He said, ‘ _You are clearly distressed. Yet you are not utilizing me to manage your anger like you should.’_ And then he fucking, he says—” a sob breaks from Steve and he scrubs a hand over his face before he continues.

“—He goes, _‘If you aren’t going to see her tonight, perhaps_ _you should try drawing. It always used to relax you in the past.’_ But when I asked him what he remembered about it, he couldn’t tell me, just that he knew I liked to draw and I was very good at it. So he’s in there. He is. He’s trying to break through. I just didn’t know it’d take so long.”

Natasha eyes him and takes a deep breath, as if she knows the answer to the question before she asks it. Or she’s afraid of it. Either way, Steve almost doesn’t want to hear what she has to say, even though he asked her up here.

“Did you ask him what he meant by ‘utilizing him’ for your anger?”

Steve laughs, and the tears start in earnest.

“Yeah.” He takes another deep pull from the flask, cursing the serum for his inability to forget anything and for the inability to get raging drunk. Thor’s alien liquor mostly does the trick, if even for only a few minutes at a time.

“He told me. What HYDRA thought he was good for. Two things. Killing and fucking. They fucking _raped_ him. _All the goddamned time._ They used him for ‘recreation.’ For ‘stress relief.’ And they’d do worse as a punishment as a way to control him and keep him ‘compliant.’”

Natasha cursed and chugged half the bottle Steve had given her.

“Where is he?” she asks, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

“In the gym.” He sniffed. “I told him to work out for an hour.”

Natasha is on her feet and running for the door before he finishes speaking.

“Nat, wait, what are you doing?”

“What you can’t.”

Steve rushes to catch up to her, tries to stop her from whatever it is she’s going to do, but she reaches the door first, slams it and locks it. Of course, it doesn’t take long for Steve to destroy the door and get in—he’ll owe Tony one hell of an apology later, especially after the wall repair just the other day—but it buys her the time she needs to get to the elevator before him. He runs for the stairs, leaping down whole flights at a time, and crashes through the door to the gym.

“Natasha, what are you doing?”

“Steve, not now!” she snaps, never taking her eyes from Bucky as they square off. She’s got a cut over one eye, but Bucky’s nose is bleeding so she clearly got a good hit in already.

Bucky’s eyes, though, _do_ flick over to Steve, and unbelievably, down to his crotch, as if he _knows_ what happened on the roof. Natasha takes advantage of that and lunges for him. He attempts to deflect her, but she’s fast, and in no time she has her arms around his neck in a choke hold, her legs wrapped around his waist, and is speaking to him in Russian. Steve doesn’t know what she’s saying but by her tone and the way Bucky stops fighting and falls to his knees, it’s clear he’s being reprimanded.

She drops her legs but maintains the hold on his neck, giving him just enough air that he can breathe.

Bucky responds by reaching up and grabbing onto her by the shoulders. He flips her over his head and slams her into the mat, his hand—his right hand, not the metal one, Steve notices—around her neck. The cold detachment has left his face and Steve sees anger, real and potent, in Bucky’s eyes. He speaks to her in Russian, his tone conveying the anger that Steve sees is barely contained.

“ _Mine_ ,” Steve hears Bucky say, in English, and is momentarily dumbfounded. Natasha gets her legs up between them, plants her feet on his chest, and shoves him away, pulling one of his own knives from his belt as he goes. She follows after him, landing on his chest, her knees on his shoulders, knife at his throat.

Bucky lays still, holding the back of his head as he shakes it. He’d landed off the mat and his head hit the concrete floor pretty hard from Steve’s vantage point. Bucky’s brows draw together as he studies Natasha, eyes unblinking.

“I trained you,” he said, sounding uncertain. Then— “Oh my God, I—”

“You did your _job_ , soldier.”

Bucky stared up at her in wide-eyed horror, and to _Steve’s_ horror, he can see that in this moment, he is one hundred percent Bucky, not the Asset _._

“You had no choice. And neither did I. We were following orders. Neither of us were ourselves,” she ends on a whisper. Natasha’s gaze flicks up to Steve, and Bucky’s follows suit. She swallows hard and continues speaking. “Nobody here will give those kinds of orders. Those punishments are over.”

Natasha stands and drops the knife onto Bucky’s chest as she walks over to Steve.

“The more uncertain he feels about his position here, the more he’ll lash out at you, try to get you to punish him. The more stressed you are without taking it out on him, the more uncertain he’ll be.”

“I’m right here, you know.”

Steve’s heart breaks at the sound of Bucky’s voice and he meets his eyes as he stands.

“The problem is when you don’t _stay_ ,” Natasha quips.

Clint drops down in front of Bucky seemingly from nowhere. Bucky reacts instantly, and the knife he hadn’t put away yet is at Clint’s throat. Clint, to his credit, doesn’t even flinch.

“We should talk,” he says calmly, holding eye contact with Bucky.

“It’s okay, Bucky. Go with him,” Steve says softly.

Bucky steps back and puts the knife away, eyes still on Clint who has started to walk confidently away, sure that Bucky is following.

“Go on. We’ll talk later,” Steve says when Bucky looks to him for confirmation, and tips his head in Clint’s direction.

“Hey, guys, listen, if you’re going to have a party on the roof on a Tuesday morning, at least invite me?” Tony enters the room, holding the discarded bottle and flask. “And you owe me a new door,” he says, pointing at Steve.

Natasha grabs the bottle from Tony’s hand and takes a long pull.

“If you’re not going to... _punish_...him, spar with him. Make him feel useful. Make him feel needed. That’s what will help the most.”

“Who’s getting punished?” Tony asks, watching Natasha stalk from the room.

“Nobody,” Steve mutters, grabbing the flask and storming past him in the opposite direction from Natasha.

“What did I miss?”

“Not now, Tony,” Steve grumbles, jerking the door open so hard that the top hinge breaks.

“This is why we can’t have nice things!” Tony yells after him.

*****

  
  


Bucky stays in his own room that night and Steve only feels mildly guilty as he slips out his door and heads for the stairs, trying to be as quiet as possible. Natasha and Clint are at the bar waiting for him. He takes the glass Clint passes him silently, downing it without hesitation.

“He says you told him to trust me.”

“More or less,” Clint answers, shrugging. “Of course, he replied that he already did. So I reminded him that he doesn’t when he’s not himself. He didn’t like that too much.”

Steve sighed.

“I know that _Bucky_ went to bed about an hour ago. Lord knows who he’s going to wake up as though.”

Natasha gave Clint a long look before turning to Steve.

“Steve, were you and Bucky an item? Before he...fell?”

“We...yeah,” he said softly, propping his elbows on the bar and burying his face in his hands. “It wasn’t accepted back then, of course. It was a pretty big secret. So naturally everyone we fought with during the war knew.” He dropped a hand and took his glass when it appeared in his line of sight, filled again.

“Steve, I think the Asset knows that. At least on some level. He essentially told me to keep my hands to myself.”

Beside her, Clint snorted into his glass.

“Yeah, I think we all caught that part, Nat. Didn’t need to be a spy to pick up on that vibe.”

“Shut up,” she said, pushing her elbow into his side.

Steve watched their interaction and cleared his throat.

“We probably should keep our distance though. I didn’t tell you that he was acting strangely—even given the circumstances—after the other night. He knew where I was and didn’t seem very happy about it.”

Clint sighed.

“Man, you get _so bitchy_ when you’re not—”

“Yeah, I know,” Steve cut in. “But if it makes it easier to manage Bucky and help him recover, it’s what I have to do. Besides, you really gonna complain about me not stealing your girl from you all the time now?”

“Oh God, it’s already starting,” Clint jested. It worked, though, because Steve laughed. “Besides,” Clint continued with a side glance at Natasha. “Nat’s not my girl.”

“Bullshit,” he immediately shot back. “If you two aren’t fucking you damn well should be. Everyone else already thinks you are, anyway.”

Natasha choked on her drink.

“Thought so,” Steve answered, finishing his drink. He snagged a bottle and took it with him as he left. He still enjoyed the alcohol, even if it didn’t affect him. Much like his cigarettes.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, here's where we start having to heed the tags, friends. That "Dubious consent due to identity issues" starts here. Other than that...enjoy ;)

The knock on his door at two in the morning the next night surprises Steve.

Opening it to find Bucky there is somehow less surprising, despite the state he’s in.

"Sir," he gasps. "Cap. _Please._ I need assistance."

Steve immediately goes on high alert as he notices the fine sheen of sweat on Bucky's naked torso and the trembling of his shoulders.

"What's wrong?"

"Please, sir, may I come in?" His head is down and he isn't making eye contact with Steve, as if he is uncertain about his actions. It's an affectation of his posture that Steve has come to recognize when Bucky is feeling out of his depth in a situation, usually when things are going contrary to whatever his HYDRA training has conditioned him to expect.

Steve scans the hallway but finds nothing amiss, so he steps aside to let Bucky pass. It’s when he turns after closing the door that he spots the erection under Bucky's gym shorts.

"What's going on, Bucky?"

No answer. Bucky shifts nervously from foot to foot.

Steve crosses his arms over his chest and hardens his voice.

"Asset, report." Steve barks, and Bucky instantly stills.

 _Fuck, it's going to be one of_ those _nights_.

"I require assistance for...routine body maintenance," Bucky says.

"Routine…" he really hopes that Bucky isn't going where he thinks with this.

Bucky tugs at his shorts, dropping them to his feet, displaying his gorgeous cock in all it's hardened glory. Despite himself, Steve feels his own cock twitch in response, in memory, and wishes he'd answered the door in more than just _his_ gym shorts. He swallows hard and takes a deep breath before he speaks.

"Explain your situation, Asset. What is your problem?"

Bucky seems relieved that Steve hasn't turned him away.

"I'm sorry, sir. I know you don't have the book. You might not know about this. As part of my routine body maintenance, my previous handlers would cause me to have a...release of pressure. Usually they initiated it during my punishments, or when they were relieving themselves with me, in order to save themselves time. It has been an overly extended period since my last maintenance. I find myself in extreme discomfort."

"So do the maintenance. Or do you need my permission first?"

Bucky chews his bottom lip and God help him, Steve is beginning to have his own situation.

"I...I don't know how to. I...wasn't allowed to do it myself."

This might be the night Steve dies. He can't possibly do what Bucky is asking...can he?

"How did you get like this, then?" He asks, perhaps a bit rougher than necessary, waving a hand in the air between them.

"I...woke up like this. I was sleeping. I was...dreaming." The way his eyes flick up to Steve's face and then down to his own growing erection, Steve has an idea what the contents of Bucky’s dream might have been. Like the fucking masochist he is, he asks anyway.

"What were you dreaming about?"

"It…" Bucky actually blushes. "I was dreaming about you. Please, sir, is there a way you can perform the maintenance? Without doing the punishment? I know you don't like the punishment. But do you understand what I need? Can you help me?"

Steve tries to keep his eyes above Bucky's waist while he thinks. The trouble is, he knows from past experience that the longer he's silent, the more anxious Bucky will get.

"I know what you need done," he answers vaguely, and the relief in Bucky is visible in the way his body relaxes. "Let me think about my options," he says quickly, before Bucky can get too eager.

The best option Steve can think of is to give Bucky a handjob, instruct him to pay attention to what Steve does, and then tell him he can do it to himself whenever he needs to.

It's a plan he's about to commit to when a sudden thought strikes him. He knows how the serum affected his own system…

"Asset."

"Sir?"

"When you...release...does it happen more than once, before you are finished?"

Again, Bucky's relief is clear, this time on his face, how the lines in his brow soften and his eyes brighten.

"Yes," he breathes. "I knew you'd understand."

_Fuck, fuck, fucking motherfucking fuck._

_It's not rape,_ he tells himself. _He's asking me,_ begging _me to do this. He_ wants _this._

"Can you…" Steve swallows, closes his eyes briefly, and takes a deep breath. "Can you tell me what I was doing in your dream? That will tell me how best to help you. Because that dream is what caused your...need."

Bucky pulls his bottom lip between his teeth again and eyes Steve up and down in a look that is just so _Bucky_ that it goes right through Steve, makes him even harder remembering how he'd received the same look the first time Bucky saw his new body naked.

"You, we, were, um...it was like the way some previous handlers would use me for stress relief. But it was different. You were...nice to me about it. Gentle. But we were younger...and, my arm wasn't metal. I wasn't as strong as I am now, but you were the same as now. You just looked younger. I was in a military uniform? And you had your uniform, too, but an older one. Like the pictures I’ve seen.”

 _Goddamn it._ It wasn’t a dream, it was a fucking memory of him and Bucky together during the war.

“Is that...is that something you’d be able to do?” he asks sheepishly. “I...I liked it very much. In the dream.”

Steve wonders if there is any more of Thor’s private stash of Asgardian liquor left in the common room bar still...and if so, if there’s enough to wipe this night from his memory.

“I’m not kissing you,” he says finally. His heart could only take so much, after all.

“Okay,” Bucky answers, looking equal parts confused and relieved. “I’m not sure I’d know how to anyway, even though I did in the dream,” he admitted.

Steve says a silent prayer to a deity he wasn’t even sure he believed in any longer.

“Go to my bedroom. I’ll be right in.”

“Thank you, sir!”

“Go.”

Steve finally uncrossed his arms and held his shaking hands out in front of him. How the _fuck_ was he going to do this without hating himself for it? But it wasn’t fair to Bucky to make him suffer like this. He _has_ to help him. He stops in the kitchen and grabs the bottle of vodka he keeps in the freezer for Natasha and chugs the remaining half. It won’t do much for very long, but it’s extremely strong, extremely expensive vodka that makes him feel _something_ for a few minutes at least. At worst, it’ll be burned off by the time he makes it to the bedroom. At best, it’ll get him started on the sex.

Considering the time and his empty stomach, he’s hoping for option number two as the alcohol hits his bloodstream faster.

Steve makes another quick stop in the bathroom to grab the jar of vaseline. He doesn’t have any regular lube in his room, as all the toys are in Natasha’s room. Plus, he hadn’t been expecting to need it any time soon with Bucky’s mental status being what it is. He doesn’t have any condoms, either, since Natasha can’t get pregnant, but he’s pretty sure that Bucky won’t care if he uses them or not.

Bucky is sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting for him.

“I, um, wasn’t sure how you’d want me,” he rushes to explain as soon as Steve enters the room.

“How were you in the dream?” Steve asks again, and every time he does, he dies a little more inside.

“On my stomach,” Bucky answered. “But, uh, there have been other dreams, and I’m on my back...or, on...on top of you,” he stammered.

Steve takes another deep breath.

“Okay. Well, we’ll start with how you were in the dream tonight, because that’s the one that sent you here in the first place.”

Bucky scrambles to comply, and Steve is surprised to note the shine of lube on Bucky’s ass.

“I tried to perform the maintenance myself, the way my handlers have before. Except I didn’t have any of the implements they used, only my hand, so it wasn’t working,” he explains when Steve comments on it.

 _He doesn’t know how to masturbate,_ Steve thinks. _Despite likely having to do it for the others. Christ this situation is so fucked up._

“That’s okay, Asset. I’m glad you came to me for help. You were in quite a state of distress, and that’s not good. I’m pleased that you felt it was okay to try to do it yourself. I’m not upset about that at all.” As he speaks, he caresses Bucky’s ass, teases his fingers along the seam, dipping into the copious amounts of lube seeping from him and toying with his hole. He doesn’t even question where Bucky got the lube. At this point, nothing much surprises him anymore.

Bucky is stifling whimpers and moans, and that won’t do. Especially if Steve wants to not feel like a piece of shit afterwards. He used to live for the sounds Bucky would make when Steve really set to driving him crazy. But then he remembers what he’s dealing with here.

“Asset, were you allowed to make any noise during your...punishments, or when a previous handler was using you? Or performing maintenance?”

Bucky goes even more still.

“No, sir. I’m sorry, sir. I’ll do better. I’m only supposed to make noise if it hurts, so you know you’re being effective.”

_Goddamn those motherfuckers._

“Were you being quiet in the dream?”

Bucky swallows.

“No, sir,” he whispers.

“Good. Because that’s what I want. New order, Asset.”

“Sir?”

“As your handler—” Steve dies each time that phrase leaves his mouth, and this time is no different, “—and the person in charge of you, I have a new order for you. You are to make as much noise as you’d like. This isn’t punishment, my goal is not to hurt you but to make you feel better. So if you like something, let me know. You have explicit permission to make noise and do anything— _anything—_ you want to that you did in your dreams with me.” Steve closes his eyes, steels himself for the next part. “Any time that you come to me in need of maintenance.”

Bucky gasps.

“Thank you, sir,” he whispers, as if he can’t believe it’s a real order.

Steve slips two fingers into Bucky, listening for a response. He hears a heavy exhale, feels Bucky’s body begin to relax around him. Gently he strokes over Bucky’s prostate, and his hips lift a fraction.

“Does this feel good? Do you like this?” he asks, knowing the answer full well. He knows Bucky’s body better than he knows his own, knows exactly how to bend his fingers, exactly what angle to hold those hips at to make Bucky come apart around him.

Bucky nods his head, face buried in the mattress.

“I can’t hear you.” Steve strokes again, harder, and Bucky lets out a soft moan.

“What was that?” he asks, adding a third finger to the pressure.

“Yes!” Bucky cries, rocking his hips, grinding against the bed while Steve massages his prostate. “Please,” he begs. “Please, sir, yes, I like that.” He’s trembling, on the verge of orgasm already, and Steve can’t begin to imagine how desperate he must have been before finally coming to Steve for help. He knows how horny he gets himself from the serum, how often he relieves himself, how often he seeks out Natasha when he needs more, and feels a pang of guilt for not thinking that Bucky might be feeling the same way.

Steve slides his fingers in and out, fucking Bucky with his hand, until he sees the telltale clenching of Bucky’s fists, the way he sucks in a deep breath and holds it, his eyes squeezed tightly shut, mouth open as he finally releases the breath with a pleased sigh.

It’s a sight he thought he’d never see again, and it’s enough to make Steve come, too, all over the front of his shorts.

Bucky is shaking, tears running down his face.

“Thank you, sir, thank you, thank you…”

“Next time, don’t wait for it to get that bad before you come to me.”

“Yes, sir,” he gasps.

Steve withdraws his hand and Bucky lets out a soft moan.

“Everything okay, Asset?”

“I...I want more. Please.” His voice is barely audible, as though he’s still afraid to say the words despite Steve’s orders.

But Steve smiles, pleased to have gotten that much from him right now.

“Don’t worry, Asset, I know you still need more. Just gonna get my shorts off.”

He’s not sure exactly when he decided to use more than just his hands, but the sight of Bucky before him, _begging_ Steve to fuck him...Steve might be superhuman, but he’s still _human_. It’s been a while since his last visit to Natasha and Bucky—the _Asset—_ is giving very clear consent. Conscience be damned, Steve is going to fuck the Asset senseless.

The tense set of Bucky’s shoulders relaxes.

“Thank you, sir.”

Steve fights the urge to take him in his arms and hold him. The Asset is not used to contact that isn’t to inflict pain, and Steve doesn’t want to overwhelm him. He knows they’re already pushing his limits with the concept of consensual sex, where he has a say in what happens, and it’s purely for pleasure.

He coats himself with the lube on his fingers, not that he’ll need much of it. Bucky had to have used half a bottle on himself earlier, and there’s still plenty coating and filling him.

“Ready, Asset?”

“Yes, sir,” he says, though the way he holds himself still says otherwise.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Asset, you know that, right?”

“Yes.”

“Have I ever hurt you before now?”

“No.”

“Right. So I need you to loosen up for me. Relax a bit. If you’re too tense, it will be more difficult.” Steve began massaging the muscles in Bucky’s lower back. “Think about your dreams,” he murmured, leaning over him. “Think about how good it felt to have me inside you, touching you.” He trailed feather-light kisses along Bucky’s spine, recreating one of many possible memories that Bucky had dreamt about. “Think about how much you wanted me there, doing those things.” He ground against Bucky’s ass, his cock slipping between his cheeks.

“Goddammit Stevie stop teasing and fuck me already!”

Steve bites his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, but he doesn’t let the slip throw him off for more than a second.

“Shhh, easy now, sweetheart, I’ve got you,” he purrs through the tears stinging his eyes, providing the next line in the memory that the Asset has fallen into. He lifts Bucky’s hips and pushes in gently, shuddering when he slides in to the hilt.

“More,” Bucky pants, pushing back against him. “Harder sir, please.”

And just like that, it’s gone, and Steve hates himself a little more.

“I’ve got you,” he repeats, and begins moving, picking up speed as he goes.

The room is soon filled with the sounds of their grunts, slapping skin, and heavy breathing.

“More,” Bucky gasps, even as he pushes shakily to his hands and knees after his sixth orgasm.

“Christ, Buck,” Steve groans.

“Please, sir. It—it feels so good. So much better than…” Bucky trails off, doesn’t finish the thought as he raises to his knees and turns to face Steve. “Even better than my dreams,” he says softly, and they both pretend that’s what he’d meant to say all along. “Unless…” Bucky looks off to the side, a slightly embarrassed look on his face. “Unless you’re getting tired. You’re doing this by yourself. I don’t want to be selfish, if you’ve had enough…”

“Oh I can do this all day, Asset. I’m just worried about hurting you.”

“I don’t believe that is something you are capable of doing, sir. I know, physically you _could_ do it. But I know how you look at me, when you think I don’t see you. I know what you see: your lost friend. You could never hurt me, because you’d only be hurting yourself in the process. I mean too much to you for you to hurt me, even if I still don’t fully understand why.”

Steve exhales sharply, as if he’d been punched in the gut, and hangs his head.

“I’m sorry, sir. I shouldn’t have said anything. I’ll, I’ll just go. I’m sorry.”

Before Bucky can scramble from the bed Steve lunges forward and grabs him by the waist, dragging him back and slamming him back onto the mattress. There’s a moment where fear flashes across Bucky’s face, which is quickly replaced by acceptance, as Steve covers him with his body.

“You asked for one more,” he says softly. “And I told you that I would make you feel better. If you need one more, then that’s what I’m going to do.”

“Sir… _oh._ ” Bucky’s head tips back as Steve pulls Bucky’s thighs over his and slips back inside him, rises up onto his knees, and rolls his hips in long, slow, gentle strokes.

“Oh, God, that’s, fuck, that’s, yes…”

Despite the ache in his chest, Steve smiles at how expressive the Asset has gotten over the course of the night. He’d done what he’d promised, he’d shown the Asset how pleasure felt as opposed to pain.

Even if that meant taking advantage of his intimate knowledge of this body, using it in his favor.

Even if that meant he hated himself for every moment of it.

Beneath him, Bucky is whimpering, panting, as Steve builds the fire to an inferno that will consume them both. He falls forward, bracing one arm to the side of Bucky’s head while supporting his lower back with the other. Bucky’s arms wrap around him, metal hand clutching his shoulder, warm fingers squeezing tightly at the nape of his neck.

Their eyes lock, and Steve loses himself in the stormy gray depths that are nearly eclipsed by pupils dilated wide.

“Steve,” Bucky gasps, and pulls him closer. Before he can stop it, they’re kissing, hot, open mouthed kisses, tongues taking teasing licks as they meet and come apart again in rhythm with their bodies. “Steve,” Bucky says again, wonder in his voice.

“Yeah, Buck, it’s me, I’m here, I’m here Buck,” he answers, and the tears blur his vision as his heart seizes in his chest, the knife he’d been driving into it all night finally hitting its mark.

“Steve!” Bucky cries, and his hands tighten and his back arches as he shatters, just the way Steve knew he would, and his come coats their stomachs as Steve fills Bucky.

Bucky clings to him, holding him tightly, and Steve buries his face in Bucky’s neck, trying to hold back the flood of tears threatening. Beneath him, Bucky’s breathing slows, and his heartbeat soon matches, and he falls asleep, finally spent.

Steve carefully disentangles himself from Bucky’s hold and collapses to the bed, face buried in his pillow, and cries himself to sleep.

He wakes several hours later to the late morning sun flooding his room, and he’s not surprised to find himself alone. Guilt washes over him as he lifts his head and sees the sheets next to him that the Asset had ripped to shreds. But if he’s honest with himself, the guilt isn’t all for the activities. It’s also for how damned _good_ he feels after fucking the Asset into oblivion. It had been more satisfying than any other sex he’d had since the serum. With a sigh, he gets to his feet. He showers quickly, bags up the ruined bedding for the trash, and checks his phone while the coffee brews. There are several messages from Natasha, and he looks at those first.

_Nat: hello? Where the fuck are you?_

_Nat: we’re supposed to be in gym right now what are you doing?_

Crap, he’d forgotten about that. She was going to kick his ass.

_Nat: Jarvis says you’re SLEEPING still? You never sleep past 7am._

_Nat: WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED LAST NIGHT HE JUST SAID GOOD MORNING TO ME_

_Nat: HE’S IN A GOOD MOOD AND HE’S NOT B. WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM_

_Nat: …you didn’t_

_Nat: you must have_

_Nat: did you really?_

_Nat: I’m coming up there_

The last one was from about five minutes ago, which meant he had approximately thirty seconds or less by his estimation before she came barging in. He reached for a second mug from the cabinet and filled it just as his door flew open.

“Rogers!”

“Morning, Nat. Want some coffee?”

She rounded the corner into the kitchen and stopped, staring at him. He stood with his back against the counter, one arm draped casually across his stomach, the other holding his cup as he sipped. He met her eyes over the rim of the cup and raised one brow slightly.

“It’s fresh,” he said, gesturing with his own cup.

“You fucked him.” It was a statement, not a question, with a hint of accusation lining her tone.

Steve sighed and dropped his gaze.

“Don’t even try it. You have the worst poker face in the world. And you’re more relaxed than I’ve _ever_ seen you.”

He cleared his throat.

“He doesn’t know how to masturbate,” he said into his cup. “And apparently the serum affected him in a similar manner to me. When they would...use him...he’d release, so it wasn’t an issue. But since he’s been here, and who knows for how long before that...”

“Jesus Christ,” Natasha exhaled, finally taking the cup he’d poured for her.

“Last night he came to me in extreme distress. _Begged_ me for help. What was I supposed to do? I know I said I wouldn’t...but you didn’t see him, Nat. And I didn’t, I wasn’t, he _asked_. Remember how bad I was the first time I approached you?”

Natasha nodded.

“You were pretty far gone.”

“This was worse, because he couldn’t even help himself in the slightest.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” she said softly. “It never occurred to me—”

“Sorry I missed our training session,” he said loudly, jerking his head toward the door. Natasha, bless her, understood the cue.

“Well, you don’t normally sleep in this late, so I thought I’d check in on you,” she answered. Through the front door, still hanging open from Natasha’s entry, the _ping_ of the elevator sounded. Natasha’s eyes widened and she shook her head with a small grin on her face. She was always amazed at his hearing when he alerted her to something so far off.

“I appreciate the concern, but I’m fine. Just had a bit of a late night last night and overslept.”

“Sir?”

Steve heard the hesitation in Bucky’s voice and knew he was stopped in the doorway, uncertain if he should come in or not.

“Come in. I’m in the kitchen.”

A moment later he appeared, a plate heaped with fresh fruit in his hands.

“I brought you this. You don’t have much fresh food here. I know you normally eat in the main hall, but you should have more on hand. Just in case.”

“Thank you, Asset,” he said, his word choice deliberate. While the Asset needed a harsh tone for control, praise was just as important, if not more so, as far as Steve was concerned. He wanted the Asset to be comfortable, feel encouraged to speak up and think on his own.

“That was very good, very considerate of you.” Of course, his training would have included instructions on thinking about his handlers, anticipating their needs, and acting accordingly, but acknowledging the act was still important to Steve. And judging by the way the Asset seemed to almost _preen_ under the praise, he’d made the right decision.

“Did you want...” the Asset paused, took a deep breath, and started again. “Are we still having that exercise today? I need to set everything up if you are...feeling up to it.”

Steve smiled at the change in word choice. He’d been working with him on phrasing, on not making everything sound like he was asking permission to do things, but instead to make himself an active part of the decision.

“Yes, that would be great. Let me know when you’re ready for me.”

“Thank you, sir.” Bucky nodded and turned to go, then paused and looked at Natasha, eyeing her up and down. He spoke, one word, low and guttural, in Russian, before continuing on, leaving Natasha staring after him, wide-eyed.

Steve cocked his head, brow furrowed, in silent question.

Natasha met his eyes.

“He said, ‘mine’.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so a bit of a break from the last chapter for this one and the next, but I swear all the plot is for a reason, lol. Because torturing these two idiots is my jam, apparently, and it's going to take two chapters of 'normalcy' before we get back to the fun stuff ;) . And just a heads up--for those of you who read the original, the majority of this chapter is unchanged from the original fic. I did make minor edits and additions here and there to make it work with the tone of the new narrative, and the ending of the chapter is a little different from how the scene ended in the original, but for the most part, I left it as is.

“Hey, I’ve got an idea. You’re probably pretty sick of being cooped up in this tower, right? Let’s go for a walk. It’s still pretty early in the morning, there won’t be too many civilians out and about.”

Bucky lifts his head and tips it to the side, staring at him in utter confusion. JARVIS had woken Steve because Bucky was having a nightmare. That in itself wasn’t anything new, but he’d been thrashing about more violently than normal, and his vitals had been more distressed than usual. So Steve had gone in, and after an initial struggle, he’d discovered it _was_ , in fact, Bucky who’d woken, and they’d ended up sitting across from each other on the floor as he narrated yet another horrific memory—this one was about one of many surgeries on his arm—in a dead, lifeless tone.

Steve pushes to his feet and holds his hand out to help him up.

“Come on. On your feet, soldier. We’re busting out of here.”

A sudden grin splits Bucky’s face, and for a moment everything is right in the world.

An hour later, they’ve managed to wander all the way from Midtown Manhattan to the Brooklyn Bridge. Steve supposes he always had the destination in mind when they left the tower, though he wasn’t conscious of where they were headed until they drew nearer.

“It looks so different from this side,” Bucky muses. “Everything is so different.”

They’d walked most of the way in comfortable silence, Steve watching Bucky closely as he took everything in.

“Can we keep going?” he asked Steve.

“We can. I’ll be honest, whatever you remember from whatever time, it’s probably gone.”

They started across the bridge.

“This feels familiar. Like...I used to watch the sunrise from the bridge.”

“You used to work at the docks,” Steve said, trying to hold back the emotion from his voice. “We shared an apartment, and I used to be sick a lot, before the serum. So you’d pick up extra shifts, work early mornings for the extra money to help pay for things when we were short. Many mornings you’d leave before sunrise, and yeah, you’d watch it from the bridge as you walked to work.”

It hurt to talk about it like this, second hand, as if it had happened to two other people. Which was why he’d been holding back from talking about the past at all with Bucky. In fact, he’d kept a surprising amount of distance from Bucky, encouraging him to talk to the others, to the doctors, the therapists, read, anything that limited their interactions, thereby lessening the guilt Steve felt every time he looked at him. The thought had occurred to him that he’d likely been doing more harm than good by being so distant with Bucky about it all, but since the night with the Asset two weeks prior, he felt weird around Bucky when he was actually Bucky.

They reached the Manhattan tower and Bucky looked around, took in all the buildings along both shorelines, and then looked up.

“Can’t see anything anymore from down here,” he grumbles, and before Steve can stop him, Bucky is climbing out onto the rails and scaling the outer cables.

“Bucky! Where are you going?”

“About two hundred and seventy feet up so I can see the damned sunrise, what does it look like?”

Bucky is laughing— _laughing—_ and the sound is so pure, so _Bucky_ , that Steve can’t help but feel like a kid again, tagging along behind Bucky, trying to keep up, to catch up, to stay by his side.

“Wait up!” he calls, forgetting for the moment that Bucky is a trained, deadly assassin suffering a mental break, that they’re not teenagers being reckless, that they’re not breaking laws by doing this—although who is really going to arrest Captain America?

Steve clambers up onto the top of the tower next to Bucky, who is sitting with his feet dangling very near the edge, looking happily to the east.

“Much better,” Bucky says, and his smile is infectious as Steve sits next to him. “Sunrise is way better than sunset. I don’t care what anyone else says. Sunsets are an ending, and everything gets dark. Sun _rise_ , though, it’s a new beginning. A chance to start over. Everything is bright and cheery. And the colors are just as beautiful.”

“Geez Buck, all these years and I never knew you were a poet,” Steve teases.

“Shut up, punk.” Bucky shoves playfully at Steve’s shoulder and Steve’s heart breaks at the companionship he’d been missing all these years. Tears prick the corner of his eyes and he tells himself it’s the cold wind causing them.

“If I’d known you’d have us climbing the bridge I woulda stopped for a coat first,” he says, changing the mood. It’s autumn, after all, and this high up, with a clear night, even for their enhanced bodies it’s cold when they’re only wearing t-shirts and sweatpants.

“Are you cold? I don’t ever notice it much. Not sure if that’s from training or from all the freezes. Any time I complained about anything they’d beat me, so I really don’t know. I’m sorry, I didn’t think about it.” Bucky moves as if to stand, and Steve pulls him back down.

“I’m fine, Bucky. I was just teasing you. We’ll stay. You wanted to watch the sunrise, and that’s what we’re going to do.”

Cautiously he sits back down. Steve leans back, bracing his hands against the cold stone.

“I always wanted to see the world from up here,” he says softly, trying to help Bucky relax once more. “But I was so small and weak, I’d never have been able to climb up here when we were kids. Now it’s just not the same. It’s too noisy. Too bright. The skyline is all wrong. Everything is wrong.”

“I’m wrong, too.”

It’s soft, almost too soft even for supersoldier ears to pick up, but Steve hears it and laughs bitterly.

“Being here with you is the only thing that feels right.”

“Even if I’m not the same person?”

“None of us are the same. I’m certainly not the same person I was then either.”

“I want to be him— _me—_ again. The longer I’m awake, without being in the chair, I have...flashes. Like memories. Of him. Of you.” Bucky bites his bottom lip and looks hesitantly at Steve. “Of _us_ ,” he says, his inflection and tone clear as to what he remembers. “Especially after you...But then they’re gone, they don’t stay. And I wonder if they’re even real.”

“They’re real,” Steve whispers, knowing he shouldn’t say anything, meeting Bucky’s eyes.

The sun breaks over the horizon, over the tops of buildings, and bathes Bucky in light. Steve’s breath catches in his throat, and he would swear that his heart stopped. His gaze roams Bucky’s face, taking in every line, every angle, every curl of hair and storing it for later so he can try to paint it, though he doubts he can do the image justice.

Bucky looks to the sun, squinting his eyes.

“See? So much better than a sunset. Why set the world on fire when you can bring it to life instead?” He looks back to Steve, who still hasn’t torn his gaze from Bucky.

“You okay, Stevie?”

He nods mutely, pressing his lips tightly together to keep them from trembling as the tears break free. _Stevie_. He could count on one hand the number of times Bucky had called him anything other than Captain or Sir since they’d brought him to the tower.

Bucky reaches over and cups Steve’s face with one hand, thumb swiping over his cheekbone, wiping away a tear.

Two days after Steve had been with the Asset, Bucky tried to kiss him, and Steve shied away, explaining that he didn’t want to push Bucky into something he wasn’t ready for, when he was still recovering memories and dealing with traumas and psychological damage and losing time. He’d looked hurt, but the worst part was that he said he understood, and that Steve was probably right, and fucking _thanked_ him for being so considerate. Steve couldn’t admit to the truth of why he didn’t deserve Bucky’s touch.

“I’m not worth your tears. I’ve done terrible things. But you’re not going to give up on me, are you?”

“Never,” Steve gasps through his tears. “You’re worth my _everything_ , Bucky.”

Bucky’s mouth crashes into his and Steve forgets that he should stop this, because they’re just as soft yet demanding as they were all those years ago, and he smells the same, and when he swipes his tongue inside Bucky’s mouth he still tastes the same, and it’s Bucky, he’s got him back, and they can get through this, they _can_ —

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry sir, you said you didn’t want to—” Bucky quickly scrambles away from him, cowering on all fours, head down, something having tripped him back into Asset mode.

“It’s okay, please, listen to me, I’m not upset—” Steve sits up, reaches forward, and Bucky scrambles further back, only to slip on the stone that angles sharply away at the edge. His shoes don’t offer much in the way of traction or grip, and Bucky’s lower body shoots over the lip into nothingness. The oh so tormentingly familiar look of shock and fear spreads on Bucky’s face as his momentum carries him down, arms flailing but unable to catch on, and then he’s falling, again, falling, _oh god, no, why, not again—_

“ _STEVE!”_ Bucky cries, but it’s not Bucky’s voice, it’s _The Asset’s voice_ , that subtly deeper tone that sets them apart, and Steve is on his stomach, reaching, but it’s too late, he’s too far, he can’t reach, he’s going to lose him again—

“ _Bucky!”_ And then Steve is running, pushing off, falling through the air, following after him, he won’t leave him again...he does his best to keep his body relaxed, vertical, hitting feet first to minimize injury. The impact is still jarring, extremely painful, but he’d seen Bucky hit back first, and knew from experience how that felt, what that would do to him. After what feels like an eternity of sinking below the surface, Steve finally slows enough to be able to kick forward, searching desperately through the dark waters for Bucky.

Lungs burning, he pushes up, breaking the surface long enough to look for signs of where Bucky fell, sucks in another deep breath, and dives. His fingers brush something metal and he grabs on, pulls, and is elated to see Bucky’s body below him as he rises to shallower water.

A small group of onlookers has congregated, and now cheer when he rolls to his back, hefting Bucky onto his chest to hold him as he begins to slowly swim for shore. Unsurprisingly, by the time he gets there, a large crowd has gathered. Steve is about to ask for someone’s phone when two of Tony’s Iron Man suits land. One immediately goes prone on the ground and opens, revealing an empty interior.

“Put him in, wonderboy,” Tony orders, sounding extremely annoyed, and Steve does so as the crowd takes pictures and videos on their phones. Bucky’s suit takes off as soon as it seals up. Steve steps back and braces himself in preparation of Tony picking him up to fly him back to the tower, and is surprised to have the armor open up and wrap around him as well.

“What’s the status on Bucky?” he asks the moment the mask closes.

“Uh, I believe the words you’re looking for are ‘ _thank you so much for saving our asses, Tony,’_ which, by the way, you’re welcome for. I don’t particularly enjoy five am wake up calls from Jarvis informing me that you two flew the coop and decided to go base jumping off the Brooklyn Bridge at sunrise.”

“Tony, did it occur to you that if he wakes up inside that suit without me there, there’s no telling how he’ll react?” The responding curse is answer enough for Steve. “Didn’t think so. And besides, it was an accident.”

“Sir, Sargent Barnes’ vital signs are stable, though elevated. His brain activity is quite accelerated, though he remains unconscious. He also suffers from a multitude of broken bones and some internal bleeding, which is already slowing due to his increased healing capabilities.”

“Thank you, Jarvis.”

“I shall bring you directly to the medical suite, Captain.”

Being inside one of Tony’s suits is highly disorienting, and Steve finds himself simply closing his eyes until he senses the shift in speed and alignment that indicates their return to the tower. Tony might be able to follow all the readouts and information constantly flitting across his line of sight, but Steve is thrown off by the lack of peripheral vision and the steady flow of input. His respect for Tony’s intellect and ability increases, though he’ll never admit it to his face.

“As predicted, Captain, Sargent Barnes has woken and is quite distressed,” Jarvis announces as they arrive on the medical floor.

“Goddamn it,” Steve hisses. “Get me out of this thing!”

The suit falls away as Steve runs into the room, where he can hear Bucky screaming, his name interspersed within the sounds of terror.

“Steve! _Steve! Help me!”_

“Sir, I should inform you, that among Sargent Barnes’ broken bones is a punctured lung that he has now re-injured, and he has broken the lower part of his spine.”

“Jarvis, get his helmet off. Bucky, Bucky, it’s me! It’s okay, I’m here, you’re going to be okay.”

Bucky thrashes his head, trying to get out of the armor, which is currently locked to a table in an effort to contain him.

“Bucky! Listen to me. Listen to my voice. It’s Steve. I’m here. I’ve got you. You’re safe now.” He jumped up onto the table, sitting on Bucky’s chest, and grabbed his head, forcing him still.

“Steve?” _Bucky’s voice._

“Yes. Listen to me. You must calm down. I am here. I will not let anyone hurt you. I promised you, right? No more experiments.”

“They all promised me things. They all lied.” _The Asset._

“I am not your goddamned handler! I am your friend! I have loved you since we were teenagers and I have never once lied to you.”

“Stevie...” _Bucky._

“Yes Bucky. I’m here. I’m with you.”

“’Til the end of the line,” Bucky finished.

“Yes, Buck. ’Til the end of the line.”

He can feel Bucky’s heart racing beneath his fingers as he holds his head steady, but he stills, eyes wide with terror locked onto Steve’s.

“Stevie, I can’t move.”

“Well, for starters, that’s because I’m sitting on you. And you’re restrained. I need you to stay calm and listen to me, because otherwise they’re going to have to give you a sedative, which I know you don’t want. You have a punctured lung. You have broken bones. And you broke your spine. You need to let us set them so you heal properly.”

“I remember falling. I remember you, and the sun on your face, and you looked...” Bucky trailed off, a blush spreading across his cheeks that Steve knew was mirrored on his own. “Apparently, supersoldier or not, it’s not a good idea to fall into the East River from the top of the bridge, huh?”

Steve cocked an eyebrow at him.

“You think?”

Bucky swallows and holds Steve’s gaze.

“Steve? I’m scared. I’m afraid I’ll slip away again.”

“I’ll be right here when you get back, if it does happen. Promise.”

He climbs down from the table with a slight grimace, sore from the impact with the water, and he thinks he might have sprained something from jumping without any protective gear on.

Bucky’s groans accompany his as the suit slowly retracts, gently settling Bucky’s body onto the table.

“Christ, don’t ever let me climb up there again,” Bucky says.

“Yeah, what exactly were you two idiots doing up there anyway?” Tony enters the room in full armor and Steve eyes him up and down. “What, this? Sorry, but I don’t trust Robocop there just yet while he’s injured. And Banner is talking me through this remotely, so, I kinda need Jarvis for scans and whatnot.”

“Watching the sunrise,” Bucky grunts from his position on the table as Natasha arrives and begins palpating ribs.

“Ugh, that’s so cliché and disgusting. And we have a better view here, where it’s warm and dry. Why go there?”

“Ribs are set, his lung should heal shortly assuming he recovers at the same rate as Steve,” Natasha reports. Bucky stares up at her, head tipped to the side.

“I shot you. I’m sorry.”

“Twice,” she answered dryly.

“Then I’m sorry twice. And I’m sorry for...” his eyes found Steve and the returned to Natasha. “For that mess.”

“Eh, he’s not so bad once you get used to him,” she teased, and Bucky smiled up at her.

“Not what I meant, but yeah, he kinda grows on ya, huh?”

“Okay, so here’s the deal,” Tony interrupts, clapping his hands together. “We have to set your spine. Sooner than later. And it’s going to hurt. A lot. It’s not lined up, and yeah, you’re healing fast, and when Ken Doll here broke his after you dropped him from the carrier he was walking out of the hospital in two days.”

Bucky catches Steve’s eyes.

“Guess we’re even now, huh?”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aka, the chapter in which we have ALL the Bucky angst, lol. I don't even know what happened here. This was NOT planned. Also, I love Tony. Just saying.

Bucky refuses any and all sedatives, terrified of losing himself again.

The fall from the tower triggered something inside his brain ( _falling, falling, oh god Steve who’s going to protect you now, not again_ ), and he wants to stay, doesn’t want to disappear within his own mind again, doesn’t want to be cold, detached, cynical, a machine and nothing more.

He’d tried so hard to push forward and remain there, on the bridge with Steve, his Steve, looking out at their city that had changed so much, he’d hoped that it would help end the half-life he was living. Then he’d looked at Steve, bathed in the first rays of the sun like some god come to life, and he was crying, crying _for Bucky_ , his own personal god, shedding tears that Bucky didn’t deserve, and he couldn’t resist the need to kiss him, it had been so long...

Bucky had been unable to stop the fear, the terror, the panic rising inside him from the Asset, the trained response, his _conditioned reaction_ to something so intimate, so forbidden to him, because it overpowered everything and he couldn’t remember just exactly why it was so important to fight to stay.

But as Steve stands at his head, hands on his shoulders, holding him down, and he stares into those impossibly blue eyes, he remembers everything. Scraped knees. Split lips. Black eyes. Broken ribs. Bloody knuckles and noses. Back alleys. School yards. Coney Island. Festivals. Funerals. Their apartment... _their apartment_. His hand over Steve’s mouth, keeping him quiet so the neighbors won’t hear. Piling blankets on the bed while Steve shivered uncontrollably, all the while terrified that this would be the year that the flu would take Steve from him. Laughter, so much laughter. Steve drawing while Bucky read, the ball game on the radio.

“Steve,” he whispers, his hands coming up to hold onto biceps now bigger than his— _everything is bigger now, oh God, he thinks he might die at the feel of Steve inside him now, but he’s got to be quiet, can’t let the other soldiers hear_ —and Steve smiles down at him, looking just as emotionally wrecked as Bucky feels.

“I’ve got you, Bucky. I’m here,” he murmurs, thumb stroking along his collarbone.

“Ready?” Tony asks, and Steve nods his head, never breaking eye contact with Bucky. Bucky is pretty sure he’s watching for the change, waiting to see if the pain will trigger the switch in his brain, and knows that Steve’s position, so close to his metal arm, isn’t just a coincidence.

Human hands and metal arms from the machines in the room all grab onto him, some holding him still as others move his body. His own hands dig into Steve’s arms and he can’t hold it back any longer, he screams as white-hot pain shoots through him, even worse than when HYDRA would mess with his shoulder. When the haze recedes he feels firm pressure circling his waist and hips, and all the hands are gone except Steve’s, and he’s still got a death grip on Steve’s arms.

But most importantly, he’s still himself.

“Hey, punk,” he says softly, and Steve exhales heavily as he closes his eyes and lets his chin drop to his chest.

“Hey, Buck,” he answers.

“I gotta say, Barnes, it is _scary_ how well you took that, which means I _really_ don’t want to know what those bastards did you because it’ll probably give me nightmares and I’ve got enough of those from my own issues.”

“Thanks, I guess?”

He loosens his hold on Steve and drops his hands to his shoulders, where Steve’s hands still rest, and their fingers intertwine.

“I think we’ve done all we can here, and since you technically don’t exist and we don’t know who might be looking for you, or what exactly was done to you, we can’t just waltz into a neurosurgery room with you. If you’re feeling stable enough, Bruce will come in and run some more checks on you in a bit. My specialty is tech. I can tinker with your arm if you want, change the look of it, the abilities, all that. In fact, I’d _really_ like to do that just for shits and giggles once you’re you all the time and won’t freak out on me. But this kind of stuff is beyond me. He at least has a medical degree.”

Bucky frowns.

“Then why isn’t he here now?”

“He’s got some amazing rage issues. If you went into deadly Russian killer mode, he’d end up destroying my tower and I’m not particularly a huge fan of that—I’m sorry, but are you two going to stop staring at each other? Because it’s starting to really creep me out.”

“It’s called a coping mechanism, I believe. Seventy years of brainwashing, experimentation, and torture. It’s still a little difficult for me to believe he’s real and not a figment of my imagination.” Bucky grins up at Steve as he speaks.

“Okay, well, I’m real, too, and this is very uncomfortable for everyone else in the room.”

“You’re the _only_ other person in the room, Tony.”

“How can you know that if you haven’t torn your eyes from him?”

“Deadly Russian killer, remember?” he asks, dropping his voice.

Steve breaks out into a laugh, and Bucky is smiling as he finally tears his eyes from Steve to look at Tony.

“See? This is what I’m talking about. This is why I have trust issues.”

“I haven’t tried to kill you yet, have I?”

“ _Yet_?”

“Listen, in all seriousness, if there is anything you can do about the arm, I’d appreciate it.”

“Yeah, I’m already on it. Got lots of ideas. Lots of diagrams. Whenever you’re ready we’ll look at them,” Tony says, waving a hand dismissively.

“I’m not going anywhere for a day or two, right?” Bucky looks pointedly at the brace encircling his torso.

“In that much of a hurry?”

Bucky sighs and lets his head fall back against the table.

“I hate it,” he says quietly. “It’s heavy and loud and impossible to hide. It’s a constant reminder of _them_. I don’t want to be theirs anymore.”

Steve takes his metal hand and brings it to his lips. Bucky jerks it away.

“Don’t, Steve. I know what you’re trying to do, but don’t do it.”

“Okay, well, if I’m going to be tinkering with that for real, I need more sleep because I have no clue what’s actually going on for sure inside the one you’re wearing until I open it up, and I just went to bed a couple hours before you two pulled your stunt. So I’m going to take a nap and then we can talk some more, okay? Okay. Great chat.”

With that, Tony disappears.

Bucky hated feeling so broken and useless. How could he keep Steve safe, if he couldn’t even keep control over his own mind? His body? And the arm...he was happy to have _something_ , and this was the best of all the ones they’d tried giving him in the past, but it was so... _there_. Robots and flying cars and all the science fiction he’d loved aside, he hated waking up and seeing it. Seeing that bright metal, that obnoxious red star, hearing the damned noise that sounded so fucking much like the HYDRA weapons he and Steve and the boys had fought to rid the world of...it made him hate himself. And if he hated himself, how could he love Steve the way he deserved to be loved?

He fucking loves the idea of being a living breathing part of the sci-fi world of the future. Of having a robotic arm that could do all kinds of cool stuff. But not like this. So if Howard’s son—who has the _coolest_ technology he’s ever seen and is smarter than his dad even—can make him a better one, he’s all over that. The sooner the better.

“Buck?” Steve asks quietly.

Bucky sighs.

“I don’t know how to explain it, Steve. I appreciate that the arm doesn’t seem to bother you but for a million reasons I can’t put into words, I _despise_ it as much as I love it. I love the _idea_ of it. And I’m sure I like having an arm of any kind over not having one at all. Just...if I can change this, I want to.”

“Anything you want, Bucky. Anything you need. These are all good people here, they’ll help you.”

“No, they’ll help _you_. And helping me makes you happy, so that’s what they’re doing. They have no reason to help me. To trust me. Hell, I tried to kill—what’s her name? Natasha?—twice now in the last ten years. I damn near killed you because _you fucking let me like the idiot you are_ , so why should they trust me?”

“Fun fact: Tony will take _any_ excuse, no matter how thin it is, to tinker with something. I swear, if he goes twelve hours without trying to reinvent the universe he combusts from boredom. By the end of your third day here, he had several different ‘options’ he was running by me for what to include in your new arm. Because whatever he saw in the schematics from the base, plus his own scans, sent him into a tizzy. He was ranting about ‘slapping a bumper sticker over a rust spot’ and something about ‘spinning rims on a horse and buggy,’ whatever that means in his brain. But the point is, if he can make it better for you, he will. Not for me. Not even for you. For the sake of doing it. For himself. For the sake of saying that he could. That he did. That he saw something he could improve and he did it. He can never leave well enough alone. He’s always looking for ways to make things better. Hell, if he can design entire suits, he can do one arm in his sleep, without even breaking a sweat.”

“Maybe you should be _his_ boyfriend then if he’s so great.” The words escape him before he can slap a filter between his brain and his mouth.

“You asshole. That is a hell of a thing to say to me.”

Bucky covers his face with both hands and heaves a shaky breath.

“I’m sorry, Stevie. Can we please just stop talking about the arm? I want one, just not this one, and Tony’s going to help with that. End of discussion. Talk to me about something else. Anything else. Tell me...tell me what books you’ve read since you woke up. What kind of music you like now. Can you cook yet? Or do you still burn everything?” He felt his heart rate rising, and tried to take a few deep breaths. “Anything,” he says again, on a whisper.

After a minute, Steve pulls a chair over next to the bed and begins speaking quietly.

“The air doesn’t smell right. The sky is the wrong color. Nothing about New York, about Brooklyn is the same. The buildings have all changed. But that same strong sense of belonging, that fierce neighborhood pride...” Steve goes on, talking about their beloved city, and Bucky tunes out the words, focuses only on the sound of Steve’s voice, the warmth that exudes from him as he seamlessly weaves stories of their past with the way things are today. His very presence calms Bucky, and he feels himself drifting, dozing off.

“I love you, Bucky. Stay with me. Please. I don’t like who I am with the Asset.”

The whispered words float through Bucky’s brain, and he’s not sure if he even really heard them, or if the press of lips against his forehead was imagined.

“Please stay. I can’t do that again.”

Bucky vaguely wonders what Steve’s talking about but can’t devote enough energy to it to keep himself awake.

That evening it’s Tony who brings him his dinner, and has a small flat device in his hand—a tablet, he’s been told, and he’s still trying to catch up on all the technology. Tony taps the screen and spreads his arms wide, and suddenly there’s pictures in the air, and Bucky feels giddy at the sheer impossibility of it all.

“So I did lots of scans on your arm, you may or may not remember that? And I’ve got a good idea of how the arm itself works, and I can throw a mini power source into it that’s going to be way quieter than that hunk of tech, it’ll be the same material as my suits, pretty much the same strength capabilities that you have now and all that. The question is, what do _you_ want it to do? Do you want weapons in it? What do you want it to look like? I can make it any color you want, even a flesh tone, I suppose.”

“No weapons, just keep it how it is, I think. I’ve gotten pretty used to it— _he’s used to it_ this way and I don’t want to add anything new until...nothing new,” he finished, not saying what he really meant, nothing new until he was sure of his own mind. No need to give the Asset any new toys, any reason to snap. He remembers enough to know that he’s had several arms, so one more won’t make a huge difference, so long as it doesn’t do anything unexpected.

“Not shiny,” he adds. “No bright colors. I’m not quite as ostentatious as you.”

They spend a good length of time discussing the arm, and Tony is more than happy to show off and explain all the tech he uses and has created.

“I remember, the night before I left for the war, your father had made a car that levitated. Said in the future we’d have flying cars. You got anything like that?”

Tony laughs. “With everything I’ve shown you, you want a flying car?”

Bucky shrugs. “It seemed like the most fantastical thing possible at the time. Was kinda hoping maybe he’d made it work. Or that you did.”

Tony shakes his head and sighs, but he can’t keep the grin from his face. Bucky raises his eyebrows hopefully.

“Yeah?” he asks, growing excited.

“It’s not here,” Tony finally acknowledges. “I’ve got a storage facility upstate. I think you’d like a lot of the stuff there. I’ll take you there some day. You’d be like a kid in a candy store.”

“I’m gonna hold you to that. When I’m better.”

“You got a deal, Barnes. You fix your can, you can drive the car.”

They clasp hands, shaking on it.

“Which car? You won’t let me even touch your cars,” Steve asks as he enters.

Tony pressed a finger to his lips, winking at Bucky.

“Guess you’ll have to wait and see, won’t ya?”

Steve’s eyes narrow as he looks between the two of them.

“I’m not sure I like the idea of you two in cahoots.”

Tony laughs as he stands.

“I’m not sure you get a say, Cap.” He grasps Bucky’s metal shoulder. “Tomorrow morning?”

“Yes, sounds good. Thank you, Tony. Seriously. I mean it. I can’t thank you enough.”

“Hey, I’m excited. It’s gonna be fun. Making a normal arm instead of one for a suit? Well, normal-ish. Either way, if this goes well, the possibilities are endless. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. We can do fully integrated prosthetics for veterans and other disabled people. It could be a whole new direction for SI. Pepper is already getting a legal and medical team together to tease out the logistics, see how we can do it. I should be thanking _you_.”

Steve sits on Bucky’s right side and takes his flesh hand, wrapping both of his around it.

“Look at them big mitts of yours. Use’ta be the other way around.”

“That was back when you took care of me. Now it’s my turn to take care of you,” Steve said, kissing the back of Bucky’s hand.

“Stevie,” Bucky begins softly, because something has been bugging him most of the evening. “Earlier, I thought I heard you say...what happens when I’m not here? When I shift, and I’m him—The Asset?” It’s a topic that they haven’t discussed during any of his other periods of lucidity, whether by unspoken agreement or fear he doesn’t know. But he needs to know. Especially if he’s getting a new arm in the morning.

Steve keeps his focus on Bucky’s hand, and that tells him more than any words that might come out of his mouth.

“You’re gruff. Well, with everyone except me. But you...it’s subtle. Your stance changes, the way you carry yourself, like you’re always expecting an attack. It puts us all on edge after a while. We’ve gotten more used to it, so it takes longer to get to us, but it still happens. Your voice is a little rougher, your expression is blank, cold, sometimes frightening.”

“And you?”

“What about me?”

“You said that I’m different with you.”

Steve’s eyes flick up to Bucky’s face for the briefest moment before he resumes his inspection of Bucky’s palm.

“With me...” Steve sighs, and it’s a sound Bucky knows well—it’s the sigh that Steve has when he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, and is getting damned tired of it, but he’s going to just soldier on. “You _answer_ to me. I have to...give you commands. Orders. Act like your handler.”

Bucky swallows hard.

“Well, at least I have you to look after me, right?”

“I don’t like bein’ mean to you, Buck.”

Bucky catches Steve’s fingers as he traces the lines of his palm and squeezes his hand tightly.

“I know. An’ I’m sorry that you’re in that position. But I’m glad it’s you and not someone else. I’m not hurting anyone though, am I?”

Steve grins. “Just Clint. He keeps trying to spar with you. He can’t even beat me, I don’t know why he tries with you. I think he’s trying to impress Nat.”

“Are they an item?”

“Not officially, but yeah. Sorry pal, she’s spoken for.”

Bucky wrinkles his nose.

“Nah, I’m not interested anyway. She could kick my ass, I’m sure.”

“So can I!”

“Steve, you can’t kick a cold, let alone my ass.”

“I don’t get sick anymore since the serum. And you’ve never complained about what I do to your ass.”

“Except you won’t do anything to my ass right now, will you?”

Silence, awkward and heavy, crashes over them.

“Bucky...” Steve tries to let go of his hand but Bucky holds tight.

“I’m sorry, Steve. Hey, look at me.” Steve meets his eyes, and Bucky knows by the anger on Steve’s face and the clench of his jaw that Steve is digging in for a fight.

“Steve, I’m sorry. That was a shitty thing for me to say. You’re right about us not doin’ anything yet, you are. I’m just frustrated. I feel like I’m drowning here. I have no control over anything. I don’t know what’s going on half the time, don’t know who I am. You’re all I know, all I’m sure of right now. An’ I just wanna lose myself in you, to feel like I used to, to feel something familiar, something I know, not feel like I’m so damned crazy, even for just a little while—” he broke off and turned his head away as tears spilled free. The last time he’d cried in front of Steve had been at his ma’s funeral.

Steve exhaled a shaky breath, and when he pressed Bucky’s hand to his face, he could feel the tears on Steve’s cheek as well.

“I love you, Bucky. More than anything in the world. Please don’t ever doubt that.”

Bucky returned his gaze to Steve. The fight had left him, to be replaced by sadness.

“I know you do, baby doll. I do. ‘Til the end of the line, right?” He thumbs over the strong cut of Steve’s cheekbone, wiping away another tear. “It’s just hard to not feel like I’m there right now, looking at the end. Hard to see a way out of this tunnel. You’re my only light right now, and I can’t keep my eyes open long enough to find you.”

Steve surges forward, rising out of his chair to kiss Bucky.

“I’ll never leave you, Bucky. I swear.”

Bucky tangled his fingers in the hair at back of Steve’s head—it was getting longer than he’d ever seen it before, and he likes it, likes having something to hold on to as he shoves his tongue inside Steve’s mouth, moaning when Steve’s tongue chases his, giving back as good as he got.

“Really wish I wasn’t strapped to this table right now,” he murmurs, breathless, against Steve’s lips, and feels Steve’s answering grin.

“I know, sweetheart. Soon,” he says, pressing a soft kiss to Bucky’s forehead as he pulls back slightly. “I’m uh...I’m gonnfa rotate your bed back down so it’s flat and get you a blanket.” The flush of embarrassment on Steve’s face is hilarious, considering the things they’ve done in private. They’re both hard, Bucky knows it without even looking at Steve’s crotch. He’s not ashamed of it in the least, but Steve’s sense of propriety has never _not_ gotten the best of him and he’s desperate to hide Bucky’s erection, which is on full display at the moment under the thin sheet covering him.

Steve gets him situated and then sits back down, shifting uncomfortably, and Bucky grins.

“Shut up, jerk,” Steve grumbles, but at least he doesn’t look as sad any longer. Bucky isn’t sure exactly what is going on inside that head of his, but he knows Steve carries too much. He always has.

“You’re gonna stay with me tomorrow, right?” Bucky asks, knowing the answer anyway.

“Of course I am. I’ll be the last thing you see before you go under and the first thing you’ll see when you wake. I know they’re not putting you under fully, but you know what I mean. You’ll still be a little out of it to help with the pain, you agreed, Bucky.” Steve looks anxious at the last part, as though he’s expecting Bucky to change his mind still.

“I know I did. Believe me, I’m not changing that. Even though...even though there’s always the chance of me slipping. I may not remember much of my time as him, but I remember the pain every time they worked on the arm.” Bucky shuddered involuntarily. “I don’t want to deal with that again. It’s worth the risk.”

Once more, Steve has Bucky’s hand wrapped in both of his. He brings it to his mouth and kisses the back of it.

“You should probably get some sleep.”

“Will you stay for that, too?”

“Anything you need, Buck.”

Steve pulls another bed over next to Bucky’s and curls up on his side, facing Bucky, and holds his hand. It was the closest to normal that they were going to get, but Bucky was counting it as a win. He had Steve here, touching him, breathing the same air. It was as close to perfect as they were going to get for a while yet.

It felt all too soon when Bruce came in the room to wake him up and begin prepping, scrubbing him down and attaching a multitude of sensors and monitors to him. Steve stayed as close as possible for as long as possible. Tony appeared with a handful of medical staff trailing behind him. Some were doctors that Bucky recognized from various consultations since his arrival at the tower, some were new, but he knew that Tony and Pepper would have carefully screened and selected any person to walk into the room—and Bucky also knew that money was the best motivator. If these doctors were performing his surgery, they likely would be involved with any future projects Tony did involving prosthetic limbs, which meant a lot of money in their pockets. They had incentive to do their best.

“Hiya Buckaroo! I’ve had like, ten shots of espresso. Today is going to be magical. Everything is magical. You’re magical. And so are you!” Tony exclaims, grabbing Steve’s head and planting a kiss on his forehead.

“Tony!” Steve sputters as he shoves him away.

“And you!” Tony gives Bruce an extra loud smooch on the cheek. Bruce chuckles, Bucky laughs, and Steve blusters.

“Good. Much better. You guys were _way_ too serious and gloomy. This is exciting! Why am I the only one feeling all tingly?”

“Hey, I’m with you, pal. I’m excited,” Bucky answers.

“If I kiss you, you won’t punch me, will you?” Tony asks.

“I’m startin’ to feel slighted, not gonna lie.”

Tony leaned in and Bucky reached up, catching him by surprise and kissing him firmly on the lips.

“Hah! Careful, Buckaroo, I might start to like you more than Capsicle here. You’re clearly the fun one.”

“That I am,” Bucky says with his best swagger, difficult as it is lying on his back, but he still pours on the charm and smirks up at Tony.

“You—” Tony wagged a finger in his direction, grinning from ear to ear, “—you and I could have gotten into some serious trouble I think. But alas! I’m a changed man.” Tony heaves a put-upon sigh, one his hand over his heart, and the other raised to the sky, with his head tilted back and eyes closed.

“Yeah, you _are_ ,” Steve says, and it’s clear by the tone of his voice and the twitch of his jaw that he’s pissed. Whether it’s at Bucky or Tony, Bucky isn’t sure, but there’s nothing he can do about it right then.

“Aww, does grampa need his coffee? What’s the matter, Cap, didn’t sleep well?”

“Tony! This is not the time for jokes!”

Tony’s face instantly sobers.

“Rogers, believe me, I’m taking this very seriously. But being too tense isn’t going to help either. Call me crazy, but I’m pretty sure that Bucky is barely keeping it together over there. I know the feeling of being terrified of something even though you’ve asked for it.” Tony taps at the center of his chest for emphasis, and Bucky wonders what he’s referring to. “Except I wasn’t worried about waking up as someone else. So give me the benefit of the doubt, would ya?”

The room around them has gone silent and still.

“It’s okay, Tony. I appreciate what you’re trying to do. And what you are doing for me today.” Bucky tries to diffuse the situation. He suspects that whatever it is, it goes beyond just him, and that Bucky is just the latest straw to snap the thin thread of tension between the two.

After a moment in which the two never break eye contact, Steve speaks.

“Your father helped to fix me, made me better. I suppose it’s only fitting that you should be the one to help fix the man I love, make him better. And you’re right. I’ve been so worried about him that I haven’t thought about much else, about the bigger picture.”

Tony’s shoulders relax, and everyone in the room seems to follow suit. Thankfully Steve had remained seated during the whole exchange, because Bucky knows—or at least he _feels like_ he knows—how tense everyone can get when Steve is being imposing.

Work resumes on preparing for the surgery, and eventually Steve has to leave the room.

“I love you,” he says as he presses a kiss to Bucky’s forehead. “I’ll see you in a little while, okay? I’ll be right outside.”

There’s a large window in the wall where Bucky knows Steve will stand the entire time, watching everything.

“Love you, punk,” he says, smiling with a bravado he doesn’t feel. Steve gives him the briefest kiss on the lips before he stands and backs away. Their eyes lock through the glass, the intense blue the last thing Bucky sees before the sedation takes effect.

*****

He wakes slowly.

That in itself is unsettling, as he’s used to being jarred awake violently, with little regard to his well-being.

He’s a tool, after all, not a person.

He takes stock of his body and his surroundings before opening his eyes. He can sense Steve nearby, knows that Steve is aware that he’s awake by the subtle shift in his stance and the uptick in his heart rate, but he’s not saying anything yet to anyone else in the room, giving him time to do whatever it is he needs to.

The room...over all, it’s quiet. Lots of low-level background noise from monitors, electronic devices, he’s lying on a bed...he’s in the medical wing again. There’s light pressure around his torso, and he registers a lingering pain in his spine...in two spots. Lower spine, feels like it was broken? Upper spine...his arm. He’d know that nerve pain above anything else. But despite the tingling along his nerves and in his shoulder, he doesn’t feel...oh wait. There it is. His arm _is_ there. But it must be small? It’s far too lightweight to be the usual arm. And he doesn’t hear the constant, low-level hum of the power source.

He takes a deep breath and rolls his head to the left as he blinks his eyes open to see what they’ve done to him now... _oh._

His new owners are definitely far, far superior to HYDRA.

It’s a full arm. Testing, he concentrates on his hand, and watches as the fingers flutter, moving in a smooth wave, opening and closing, lifting easily with the barest thought from him. It would take him a few days, but he’d adapt. He always did. Each arm had been consecutively lighter, there had always been an adjustment period, but this was the biggest leap by far between arms. He turned the arm this way and that, pleased with the feel of it and how responsive it was. The overall design was the same, with a multitude of plates that slid and shifted over one another, but that was where the similarity ended. Instead of being bright and reflective, it was muted, the metal having a brushed looked that absorbed the light. Something caught his eye, and he lifted his shoulder to see the outside of his bicep.

A huge smile split his face as he stared at the star, the same intense blue as Steve’s uniform, outlined with thin strips of white and red.

He belonged to Steve now.

“Morning, sunshine. Well, afternoon. That took a little longer than I expected, we had a bit more internal cleanup to do on the shoulder joint than anticipated. How do you feel?”

The one called Tony is speaking, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t answer to him.

He belongs to Steve.

He looks up at him, eager to see if Steve was pleased with the surgery and the new arm they'd given him, to await his orders and debriefing. Instead, he watches as the light fades from those blue eyes that encompass his whole world, as the disappointment is quickly shuttered, and a blank look settles across Steve’s face.

"Hello, Asset. You were seriously injured two days ago, so you are on mandatory bed rest for another forty-eight hours. And we've upgraded your arm. Mr. Stark can explain all it's capabilities to you. Pay attention to what he tells you. I'll be back later to check on you."


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't going to post this yet because I don't have the next chapter done, but I couldn't help myself. Full warning, we are definitely taking a dark turn for Steve for the next couple chapters.

“You should have your gun,” Bucky grumbles at him.

“I am not wearing a gun around the tower at all times. It’s never going to happen. We’ve been over this.”

“You’re gonna get us in trouble.”

Steve snaps.

“You are literally the only person in this building who thinks that! Nobody fucking cares but you!” he yells, and immediately regrets it as he watches the Asset step away from him, head and shoulders dropping as he shrinks in submission.

Steve sighs and rubs his temple. He seems to be doing a lot more of that lately.

The longer Bucky is with them and away from HYDRA, the more freely he speaks, which is great. But sometimes Steve wished he didn’t hear the things that he said, the implications behind the words. Currently he’d like to drop about ten more buildings on Rumlow, although that number seemed to climb daily. And Pierce deserved way more than a single shot to the head.

It was getting harder to deal with the Asset without losing his cool. Logically, Steve knows it’s not the Asset’s fault, but it still pisses him off that the Asset is back, and Bucky is gone, and has been gone for three days now since the surgery.

“Tell me why you believe I am required to be armed at all times.”

Steve has learned how to phrase his questions as orders and he fucking _hates_ that he has slipped into this role of Bucky’s handler so easily.

Bucky sighs as well.

“It’s to protect you from me,” he says sadly, and it’s damn close to Bucky’s voice, the bastard has been relaxing so much that even though his brain still _thinks_ and _talks_ like the Asset, he doesn’t _look_ or _sound_ like the Asset much anymore and he might as well have shoved the knife he held out directly into Steve’s heart. “In the event that I do not respond to orders, or attack you, you must be able to put me down. There is a gun with tranquilizers you normally would have been given. Since you do not have that, you must have something capable of slowing or incapacitating me. Will you take a knife at least?”

Steve reaches forward for the knife, his fingers brushing the back of Bucky’s hand gently.

“I’ll take the knife if it will make you feel better,” he says softly. “But I do not believe you would ever hurt me. You’ve saved my life more times than I can remember, Bucky. You will not be the one to end it.”

Bucky sucks in a deep breath and his hand begins to tremble.

“Thank you, sir,” he manages to say, pulling his hand back.

The elevator opens and they make the walk to the gym in silence. Natasha had been right, of course. If Steve wasn’t willing to fuck the Asset when he felt pent up, he needed to train with him. Half the problem was that Steve _did_ want to fuck him—and he realized that he didn’t care if it was Bucky or the Asset asking for it. The war had been a long damn time ago, and having Bucky this close yet so far away was torture. Not to mention how heated things had gotten while Bucky had been healing from his injuries.

The other half of the problem was that Steve didn’t know if Bucky would forgive him for what he’d done—and still wanted to do—to Bucky while he was the Asset, should he one day fully break the conditioning and be himself once more. Heaven knew Steve was having a difficult time forgiving himself for what he’d done, and what he was likely to do again if Bucky didn’t come back soon. Shit, he wasn’t sure if he could forgive himself, he didn’t know why he thought Bucky would.

Lights flicked to life as they entered, and though Steve wanted to simply pummel another dozen or so bags, he made his way to the boxing ring in the middle of the room.

They’d been going at it pretty hard for nearly thirty minutes when Bucky pauses, gasping for breath.

“Permission to speak, sir?”

“Of course, Buck. What’s on your mind?” Even though it had been the Asset who’d answered Steve’s knock on the door, Steve refused to call him that unless necessary, unless he was pushed to do so.

Bucky frowns, looking hesitant to speak despite being given the go-ahead. Steve gives him a moment and takes the opportunity to grab a towel and tosses one to Bucky, wiping his face as he catches his breath. Bucky had gotten a few errant, uncontrolled hits in and his lip was split, but the sting felt good, the pain and the sight of the blood helping to diffuse his tension.

“Why do you refuse to force me to submit to you?”

Steve choked on the water he was drinking. That had certainly not been what he’d been expecting to be asked.

“It’s...you are never going to be forced to do anything, Bucky. Especially not that. What they did to you, your previous handlers, it’s wrong. Nobody should ever force themselves on someone. Nobody should ever be told that they are someone else’s toy.”

“But it is one of my directives, my functions. First directive is to be a weapon, the fist of HYDRA—or I suppose what’s left of SHIELD now—and serve my country. Second directive is to serve my superiors, my commanders, do whatever it takes to please them, to keep them relaxed and best able to perform their job.”

“You are not a goddamned weapon, or a machine, or a fuck toy. You are a _person_.”

“Is that why we came here at two in the morning to train then? Because this feels like keeping me in fighting form. Which makes me a weapon.”

Steve’s gaze narrows at the backtalk. While normally he’d be happy to have Bucky sassing him like that, in this context, arguing with the Asset, in the state that Steve is in, only pushes his buttons. He’s about to lay into him when the look in Bucky’s eyes stops him dead.

It’s triumphant.

Steve turns and hurls his water bottle at the wall, eyes closed and taking deep breaths as he paces. _Natasha fucking warned me. And I walked right into it anyway. He’s trying to manipulate me._

“A weapon is an object, used and directed by another. You are not that. We are not here because I want to use you, to point and have you shoot. We are here because I couldn’t sleep, and Jarvis said you were awake as well.”

“You could have gone to _her_.” Bucky rarely said Natasha’s name, and whenever it was in the context of Steve sleeping with her, she was referred to with much jealousy and derision.

“That’s...not what I wanted tonight. Normally I’d have come here by myself, but then I figured maybe you could use the workout, too. Thought you might...feel better if we did this. If I...vented my frustration this way. With you. And you could use the practice getting used to the new arm.” He punctuated the last with another dab at the cut on his lip.

“But you _do_ desire me. I’ve seen the way you look at me, when you think I’m not watching you. And the other night you had no trouble with it.”

It’s the first that either of them have mentioned that night since it happened a couple weeks ago. It had been only a few nights later that he’d had the fall, and then _Bucky_ had been there, for _days_ , as he healed, before he’d slipped away again.

“Bucky...just because I desire you, doesn’t mean I’ll act on it. Not if you aren’t in the correct frame of mind. Not if you think you have no say in the matter.”

Bucky appraised him, apparently mulling it over.

“You’re not like my other handlers. You’re much nicer.”

Steve just sighs, resigning himself to this new and torturous life.

“I don’t sleep much, if at all, most nights,” Bucky continues. “I...I am not normally awake this long, especially without a mission. Or without having used the chair again. I don’t understand, sir. Why am I awake if there is no mission?”

“ _You_ are the mission, Bucky.”

The answer confuses him more, if the perplexed look on Bucky’s face is any indication.

Steve takes a long drink of water before he continues.

“Again, something we’ve been over before. You _know_ the answer to this and you’re making me repeat it. Somewhere inside of you is my best friend. HYDRA did things to you that made you forget who you are. But the longer you’re conscious, the more their conditioning is breaking down. And I’m starting to question your intentions and motives at this point, because you’re far more alert and aware than you were when you first got here, no matter which personality is in charge of you at any given time.”

“Is that why you call me Bucky? And not Asset? Because you want me to be him?”

“I call you Bucky because that’s your name. You’re a person, not a weapon. _Asset_ is a code name. It creates a mindset and elicits a series of expected behaviors. That’s not what I want from you. How many fucking times do I need to say that before if sinks in?”

“But the others call me Barnes. Only you call me Bucky.”

Steve didn’t know it was possible for a person to sigh as much as he’d been doing since the day he’d brought Bucky home.

“Because they’re still not sure of you. Don’t know you the way that I do.”

“The way you _did_ ,” Bucky corrects, and then looks chagrined for doing so. “I’m sorry, sir.”

“No, you’re right. I don’t know you now. I know who you were before HYDRA got you. Whoever emerges from the depths of your brain is going to be different from the man I lost. But it doesn’t mean I won’t love him just the same.”

Steve cringes as soon as the words leave his mouth. He’s so damned emotionally and mentally exhausted that his internal filter is non-existent, and he never meant to say anything about their relationship while Bucky was still predominantly thinking and acting like the Asset.

“I think we’re done here for tonight. You can stay if you want, I’m going back to my room.”

“Wait, please.” The pleading in his voice makes Steve’s steps falter. “Sir,” Bucky says softly, in a tone that Steve recognizes all too well. “I know...I know you’re upset right now. But since we’re alone right now, and, and talking openly...you told me...to tell you when...when...before it got out of control...”

“Oh for fuck’s sake. Are you serious?”

“I’m sorry,” Bucky says, and if he could have made himself any smaller, look more contrite, Steve doesn’t see how. “I was...I’d hoped, when you came to my room tonight...that you wanted...instead of this...”

“You want me to fuck you again? Already? Is that it?”

“Please?” he asks. “I understand if you don’t want to tonight, after...all that. But I will need it soon. I’m sorry, sir.”

Steve closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. The worst part is that he wants it. The begging, the pleading, is turning him on. Not that it was going to take much, it never did when he wasn’t getting laid regularly, and he hadn’t had sex with anything other than his right hand since the night Bucky had come to his room.

“Unbelievable,” he mutters.

“I recall barely being able to stand in the shower after the last time. I never thanked you for that. It was a feeling I’m used to, made me feel good to know you’d gotten such a release. I was proud to be yours, seeing what you could do all on your own, without any implements or anyone else. Plus I know you haven’t been seeing her since then, so you’ve got to feel as bad as I do right now.” He pauses, and Bucky’s eyes flick down to Steve’s shorts, where his erection is clearly evident. “Looks to me like your head is the only thing in this room not on board here, pal.”

That was it.

Without warning, Steve grabs Bucky by the back of the head and pushes him face first against the side of the ring.

“Prep yourself,” he growls. How _dare_ he throw his own words back at him? The words he’d spoken to Bucky their first time, back in high school, when they’d been fooling around together for a while and Steve had gotten tired of handjobs and blowjobs and wanted more, wanted Bucky inside him, and Bucky was afraid of hurting him…

“Sir?”

“Did I fucking stutter?”

Bucky hurries to push his shorts down and reaches behind himself, metal fingers holding his cheeks apart as he sucked two fingers and then shoved them inside his hole. Steve watches in fascination as Bucky fucks himself relentlessly, clinically, not seeking his pleasure, not trying to stroke himself or seek out his prostate, occasionally withdrawing his hand to spit on his fingers to help ease the way more and open himself up for Steve. Not once does Bucky make a sound, even though Steve can see how hard his cock is, flushed and dripping with precome.

Steve gathers his own precome and slicks himself up as he pushes his shorts down to free his cock.

“Enough,” he barks, voice harsh.

Bucky immediately removes his hand and grabs his ass, one hand on each cheek, spread wide and waiting, as he bends himself over the boxing ring, resting against it. Steve steps in behind him and drives himself in, pushing against the resistance from not enough lube. Bucky grunts, but makes no other sound.

“Is this what you wanted?” He grabs Bucky’s hips, forcing himself in to the hilt in one go.

A whimper is his only reply.

“Answer me!” he demands, pulling out and driving back in hard enough to force Bucky’s waist painfully into the edge of the ring.

“Yes, sir! Thank you, sir!”

“Greedy little thing, aren’t you?”

Bucky whines.

“Move your hands. Hold onto the ring.”

Bucky is quick to comply, and braces himself, pushing back against Steve.

For his part, Steve fucks him hard and fast.

He is _angry_ at the Asset, and yeah, he wants to take that anger out on him, because he’d had Bucky back for _three whole days_ , and he’d started to believe that maybe he was back to stay.

He is angry at himself for letting the Asset get to him, for manipulating him and using his anger against himself, angry that he’d lost his cool when Bucky needed his patience.

Angry that somehow the Asset had gotten his way, and Steve was now fucking him in the gym where theoretically anyone could walk in on them despite the time.

Most of all, he is angry that with those first few thrusts, he was exhilarated to realize he could fuck the Asset hard and dirty and not worry about doing permanent damage.

“You want it this rough, is that it? I was too nice last time? That why you need it again already?”

“Please!” the Asset gasps, hands tightening their grip.

“You break that ring and I’ll break your fucking hand, Asset.”

The sound that comes from the Asset shouldn’t be so fucking _filthy_ , shouldn’t send fire through Steve’s veins that has him fighting back his orgasm until he makes the other man come, because the sound was so _helpless_ , so _broken_ , and it shouldn’t have turned him on so much, especially coming from his best friend and lover.

“Goddamn you, fucking come already,” he grits through clenched teeth, and it’s as if that was all the Asset needed because he _did_ come with a hoarse cry, and Steve fucks into him, hands grabbing him hard enough to bruise, until he comes with a groan.

He pulls out the moment his cock stops twitching, still breathing heavily as he pulls his shorts up.

“Clean up your fucking mess,” he says, throwing a towel at Bucky’s feet. “And when you’re done, get your ass to my room. I’m going to take a shower. You better fucking be ready and waiting on my bed when I get out.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **STUCKY TRASH PARTY TIME** So, yeah. This is going to get serious here. Shit is gonna hit the fan big time and things are going to hell for a few chapters, but I promise there is a happy ending eventually.
> 
> I know this chapter is a bit shorter than some of the others, but I didn't want to pair this part with anything else. And thanks to everyone who hung around for a month waiting for this. I took a slight break to write some (about 20k in two weeks...) paying words for my publisher that will hopefully be accepted and published. ;) I've got large chunks of what happens next written, but I have to fix it now because **somebody** screwed up the plot I had planned out for after this scene...*glares at the last line of this chapter*

Steve exits his shower to find the Asset on all fours in the middle of the bed. He’d heard him arrive, just moments before he turned the water off, but the Asset had still managed to place his shoes and pants neatly beside the bedroom door, out of the way, before taking his position. He watches the slow, carefully controlled breathing, the surest sign of the Asset’s emotional state. If Steve has learned anything in the past couple of months, it’s that the more the Asset schools his expression and stills his body, the more worked up he is.

He clears his throat and gets the slightest flinch of the Asset’s hand in return. A smirk flits across Steve’s face as he uncrosses his arms and makes his way to the bedside table. He opens the drawer and begins pulling things from it, lining them along the edge of the bed where the Asset can clearly see them. A bottle of lube. A cock cage. A vibrating cock ring with a full cock attached, allowing for double penetration—or, as he liked to use it for, self-penetration with the ring on as he jerked off. A ribbed and spiked silicone cock sheath. The sheer amount and variety—and open availability—of toys these days never ceases to amaze Steve, and Natasha had been more than willing to use these and more on him.

“So apparently,” Steve says softly, in the most calm tone he can muster, “I was too lenient on you the last time. Too nice. I wore you out, yes. But I didn’t hurt you. And you want it to hurt, don’t you?” When the Asset remained quiet, Steve squeezed the Asset’s cock, harder and harder until he whimpered.

“Yes!” he finally cried. “Please, sir. Please hurt me.”

Steve hummed his response—more contemplative than pleased, to be sure. He’d never intentionally hurt anyone during sex in order to get off on it, and even some of the kinkier stuff he and Nat did never really hurt him. He wondered just how far he’d have to go to hurt another supersoldier.

“Okay, Asset. Let’s play this your way then, tonight. Let’s see if I can hurt you and give you what you want.”

He started by securing the cock cage, which drew multiple cries from the Asset, considering that he was already hard again. It wasn’t a terribly painful cage, though, as Steve knew from experience. It was a soft, not rigid, and stretched tightly around the Asset’s cock, digging in in ways that Steve had anticipated—after all, he was very familiar with the size of Bucky’s cock, and knew if the restraint worked for him it would work for the Asset.

“Well, that doesn’t look very comfortable,” Steve tsked.

“Thank you, sir,” the Asset gasped.

Steve shook his head slightly as he took position behind the Asset.

The Asset’s hole was red from their earlier activities, and Steve teased a finger along it before shoving in, no lube, to see what he’d do, how slick he was inside from what remained of Steve’s come. The Asset grunted, but accepted the intrusion without complaint. He twisted his hand, curled his fingers until he found the spot. The Asset gasped, even as his hands fist the sheets.

“Don’t worry about being able to release. I can still force it out of you, even with the cage on. It hurts a bit, but I’m sure you can take it.”

The Asset whimpered again, back bowing and ass presenting as he both fought and chased the feeling.

With a grin, Steve pulled his fingers out and lubed himself up.

“I’ll give you another round like normal, first. Let you get used to the cage. By the time we’re done here, maybe you’ll appreciate my tactics a bit more.” His words are punctuated by a thrust as he drives himself in and the Asset rocks forward from the force of it.

Just like in the gym, Steve keeps a fast and brutal pace. Except this time, he doesn’t care if the Asset comes. He doesn’t even want him to, if he’s honest. The Asset doesn’t know what he has asked for. Steve knows how it feels to be trapped in that cage, desperate to come while being pounded by a cock. But Steve only had Natasha for that. She doesn’t have his strength and endurance. He knows, to an extent, what he himself can take. The Asset is enhanced. He knows, logically, that there is nothing he can do that will compare to the things Hydra did to him. That he can let himself go, take the things he’s always wanted from the body beneath him without fear. Without restraint. The thought of it alone is enough to tip him over and he comes, burying himself inside the Asset as he fills him.

The Asset whimpers and Steve looks to the bed beneath them, finding it still clean and dry, no evidence of a large release. _Perfect_ , he thinks. A part of him screams in the back of his head, that he should not be enjoying this, that if he’s going to be doing this to anyone, it should be _Bucky_. But that doesn’t stop his cock from hardening again almost immediately as he thinks of the torment the Asset’s cock is enduring.

He pulls out and slips two fingers in, sliding through his come as he seeks the Asset’s prostate.

“Sir!” the Asset cries, but Steve is relentless and works his fingers until the Asset trembles, gasps as his cock releases while still trapped, and his arms give way a bit as he falls to his elbows.

“Hmm, what should we try next?” Steve grabbed two handfuls of the Asset’s ass and squeezed tightly. “I love this ass,” he says, half to himself, and leans in to bite one cheek. He decides that he likes the angry red oval left by his teeth, and he bites the other side harder. His heart rate accelerates as he admires the result. He smacks his hand down, open palmed and searing, over the bite. A choked cry comes from the Asset.

“So pretty,” Steve muses. “Maybe I should mark you up some more. Really make you mine. Such a shame that I can’t make them permanent.” A soft whine, so soft that even Steve has trouble hearing it, escapes the Asset. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Want the whole world to know what I do to you, is that it? Want everyone to know who you belong to?”

“Please,” he begs. “Please, sir. Mark me. Claim me.”

Steve groans and grabs the cock ring/dildo combination and lubes himself up, slides it on and gets it comfortable. He sets the vibration to a medium setting and drives the fake cock into the Asset without slicking it up, and is wholly unprepared for the moan of pleasure that comes from the Asset. He pulls back and thrusts in again, his cock nestled in the valley of the Asset’s ass, sliding easily with the lube he’d coated himself with as the dildo begins to move more smoothly from the come now coating it. The dildo makes an obscene sound as he moves, come being forced out around it through the Asset’s stretched hole as Steve drives the large cock into him.

The Asset pants beneath him, and Steve notices that he’s actually rocking back into the thrusts, trying to drive the massive cock even deeper. He pauses, adjusts the vibrator to a higher setting, and shifts his legs. He pulls the Asset’s legs together so that his own are caging the Asset, tightening his ass around the dildo and squeezing his cheeks around Steve’s cock. Steve pours more lube over his cock, making a sloppy mess of where they are joined, and pumps furiously, sliding effortlessly.

The Asset cries out as another orgasm is forced from him and Steve’s sprays all over the Asset’s back. But the slick sensation, combined with the vibrations, feels too good, and he doesn’t stop, fucking the Asset through his release and returning to full hardness himself after just a few thrusts. He continues until the Asset’s back is covered in come and Steve is shaking with the exertion and the high of three back-to-back orgasms with no slowing between. Distantly, he hears the Asset’s sobs, hears the _please_ s and _thank you_ s being forced out between breaths, and Steve shudders through one more release, as much pain as pleasure shooting from him to add to the mess he’s already made.

He stops, hips locked tight against the Asset as he catches his breath. The dildo remains buried inside the Asset, the vibrator still going, and the Asset whines. Steve opens his eyes and takes in the scene.

“What?” he growls.

“More,” the Asset pleads, and for half a second, Steve thinks he might throw up when he sees the pink tinge on the base of the dildo—he never, _never_ intended for this to go that far. Instead, he swallows hard and removes himself from the cock ring, leaving the dildo in place.

“Go clean yourself up,” he barks as he falls to his back in the middle of the bed. “And don’t you even _think_ about taking that out until you’re in the shower. You’re not dripping a trail of come and lube across the room. You can crawl there.”

“Yes, sir,” the Asset breathes out.

Steve went into the kitchen and forced down a glass of the supplements Bruce had created for him. He wasn’t always able to eat enough to meet his caloric needs, so Bruce had found a solution in the form of some disgusting supplement sludge. Bucky had some in his room as well now. He was more used to taking supplements, as Hydra hadn’t been a huge fan of feeding him in general. Bruce’s concoction was concentrated so that he could carry a small amount of it in his utility belt on missions and mix it with water. Right now, he made a strong mix and choked it down before returning to the bedroom.

The Asset stood in the middle of the room, water dripping everywhere, dildo and cock cage removed and on the bed.

“Asset, what did I fucking tell you? And why did you leave the shower on?”

He lifted his head and stared at Steve, utter confusion on his face, and suddenly it was 1943 and Steve was drowning in the frigid waters of the Arctic as his body went numb.

“Steve? What the fuck is happening?”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise!!!
> 
> So, I was able to pull this together much more quickly than I'd expected, so here is a gift for you! Plus it's a way to make it up for how I ended that last chapter ;) . If I were to title this chapter, it'd be simply, "fallout". Another short one, but again, I couldn't see combining it with what comes after. Also, your comments on the last chapter gave me life!!! I loved and cherished them. <3

Bucky took in Steve’s naked body, his half-hard cock, and the fear in his eyes. Add to that the disturbing amount of come on the bedding, and the pain in his ass, and the simple math was obvious.

But this son of a bitch was going to say the goddamned fucking words.

“Steve,” he repeated, slowly moving across the room to where the man was rooted to the floor. “What. The fuck. Is happening?” His hands fisted at his sides. Not once, from the first time he’d saved Steve’s scrawny ass on the playground, to the day Steve saved him from Zola’s table and he’d found out what Steve had done, had Bucky ever wanted to raise a hand to Steve in anger. He’d fought the urge to literally shake some sense into that thick fucking skull more times than he could count, but hell, it had been _Steve_ who’d broken all the years of brainwashing on that carrier and stayed his hands.

Right now, those hands were a heartbeat away from breaking that perfect fucking jaw.

Steve swallowed, jaw working like a fish out of water.

“Bucky, I—I can explain. I—you—I mean, the Asset—”

_Crack!_

Bucky would be lying if he said that the sound of his fist connecting with Steve’s face didn’t give him a great deal of satisfaction.

“Okay, yeah, I deserved that.”

_Crack!_

Steve fell to a knee, one hand holding his face, the other held out in a silent plea.

“That too,” he gasped.

“Never. _Never_ have I hit you. Or truly been so angry that I wanted to hit you. Say it. Say it, Steve. _What was happening here_? Tell me. Or the next hit won’t be coming from the right arm.”

“I—” Steve dropped his head and closed his eyes. “I was fucking the Asset,” he whispered.

“You fucking coward. You can’t even fucking look at me when you say it. Well, at least now I know why you’ve been keeping me at arm’s length. Here I thought you were looking out for my health, but it turns out it wasn’t that at all.”

Steve whines.

“Bucky,” he begs. “No. You don’t understand.”

“What the fuck is there to understand, Steve? The last thing I remember, I fell. I was recovering, and things were looking good, I was here for _days_ , and you and I were gettin’ pretty hot and heavy. Just couldn’t do nothin’ cuz of my back. So, what, you couldn’t make it a few more days? After waitin’ so long for me after you got me here? Cuz I know you ain’t been drinking, you can’t get drunk no more. So what’s the excuse? Huh? This should be a good one. You can’t lie for shit.”

Bucky crossed his arms and rolled his shoulders back as if he was leaning on a wall, fixing Steve with a glare. Steve hung his head, body shrinking as he deflated.

“I fucking tell you everything, Steve. _Everything._ All my nightmares—you think I wanna talk about them? Tell you what I’ve done? What they made me into? All this time I’ve been afraid that _that_ was what was really holding you back. The monster that I’d become. That you couldn’t look at me and not see _him_. Not see the blood on my hands. That you were repulsed by me. But clearly that’s not the problem.”

“He—the Asset—Hydra, they conditioned him to need—”

“So you what, took one for the team? Instead of finding another way? How magnanimous of you. How could you do this? The one thing I ever asked you for, and you can’t do it to me, but you’ll do it to _him_?”

“You have every right to hate me,” Steve says, his voice shaky, words slurred from the broken jaw. He still can’t work up the guts to look Bucky in the eye.

“Hah. You see, _Stevie_ , there’s the rub. I can’t hate you. Even for this. I literally owe you everything right now. Who knows what I’d be doing if you hadn’t rescued me, once you knew I was alive?” He sees the flinch of Steve’s shoulders and doesn’t feel sorry about the low blow. “Like the damned fool I am, I still love you. Even if I want to punch your face in right now.”

“I wouldn’t stop you,” he says softly.

“Of course you fucking wouldn’t. Because you’re so fucking stupid you’d let me almost kill you again. So do me a favor, ‘kay? Don’t follow me. Cuz if you do I might do something I’ll regret one day.”

“Bucky, please! Please don’t leave.”

“Leave? And exactly where the fuck would I go? No, Steve, don’t flatter yourself. I’m just going to my own floor. Away from you.”

*****

The Asset woke in a strange room. He went on alert instantly, listening for sounds as he scanned the room. Layout, furniture, view, it was all nearly the same as his previous view, only shifted slightly. The sounds were the same—he could hear the staff in the main kitchens, everyone doing all the behind-the-scenes work of the tower in the lower levels, only now they seemed to be a floor closer to him. The smell was...empty. It didn’t smell like Cap or himself or any of the other team members. A guest room then? On an unused floor? There was a bundle on the floor just inside the bedroom door. It appeared to be the quilt from his previous bed, stuffed with items—his gut told him his clothes and few belongings were in there.

Once the confusion began to dissipate, he realized that he _felt_ something—an inexplicable mix of sadness and anger. He cleared his throat.

“Jarvis?” he tried.

“Good morning, Soldier. How may I assist you?”

Well, good. At least the robot in the ceiling was still talking to him. So whatever it was he did, he couldn’t have fucked up too much. Plus, he didn’t have a babysitter.

“Can you tell me why I’m in this room? What happened? How long was I gone this time?” The last thing he remembered was stepping into Steve’s shower.

“Not long, sir. Shall I fill you in as usual?”

“Yes, please, thank you,” he murmured as he pushed himself to sit at the end of the bed, infinitely grateful for the sentience of the system. He stretched, limbering up, loosening the muscles of his shoulder, back and neck while he waited for the report.

“Sargent Barnes still has not asked me for information about what happens when he is you.” The Asset scoffed. _Trusting idiot still thinks Steve will tell him what he needs to know._ Jarvis continued speaking. “While you were showering, Sargent Barnes woke up.”

“Uh-huh. I kinda figured. And I’m assuming that’s where things went wrong and I ended up here?”

“Yes, sir. Perhaps it will be easier for me to show you this part.”

The Asset’s head snapped up, because that meant whatever went down, Steve hadn’t had Jarvis erase the footage. A screen appeared on the wall and he saw himself, standing in Steve’s room. He watched himself clock Steve in the jaw not once but twice, and chuckled to himself that it took _this_ for Bucky to grow a spine and stand up to Steve since they’d been rescued. He listened to the one-sided argument, which wasn’t even really an argument, then watched as he grabbed his items and came down here. Once the door was locked—and, he noted with a wry grin, barricaded, not that it could stop Steve if he really tried—Bucky sank to the floor and _cried_.

Well.

At least he’d held it together until he’d been alone.

And now that the dipshit knew about what Steve was so willing to do with him but not Bucky _—_ seriously, how stupid and trusting was he that he hadn’t seen it sooner?—the Asset knew he’d have to work harder to make himself indispensable, because he couldn’t count on the idiot doing anything useful besides moping now. He assumed that’s why he’d been the one to wake up, not Bucky. It was easier to take control when numbnuts was emotional. Emotions made you weak.

“Thank you, Jarvis. Where is Steve now?”

“Captain Rogers has spent the remainder of the night and early morning in the lower gyms sparring with Sir’s reinforced suits and equipment. I do believe he is near to the point of passing out.”

“Of course he is.” The last of the residual emotions from Bucky were fading away, and the Asset ran his hands through his hair as he stood, slipping the band from his wrist and tying it back into a loose bun at the top of his head. Thankfully Bucky had left it long. He’d considered cutting it a few times, but every time he did, he remembered how Steve would fist it, using it like a handle as he fucked him, and he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

Because he was going to do everything and anything in his power to make sure that happened again. There was no way he was leaving without a fight.

*****

Steve hated himself for how much he loved fucking the Asset.

He knew he’d been betraying Bucky, felt it in deep cuts right down to the marrow in ways that sleeping with Natasha had never made him feel.

Steve refused to sleep with Bucky while he was still recovering. He knew it was the right thing to do, to not force their relationship back onto him while he was still trying to find himself.

He knew he couldn’t keep pushing Bucky away forever. But he couldn’t refuse the Asset. Maybe it made him weak. But the truth was, he was scared he’d lose that release, that Bucky wouldn’t be so submissive with him, that he might even flat out refuse to bottom any more after everything Hydra had done. Hell, after everything _Steve_ had done now. It was no less than Steve deserved, after all.

They were both finally physically capable of having the kind of sex they’d always wanted, and now Steve had fucked that up fifteen ways to Sunday.

He staggered on his feet, swaying as he threw another punch, smearing the blood coating the bag. After he’d destroyed Tony’s four newest prototypes, he’d moved on to the heavy bags. Even with the reinforced bags they’d gotten, he was on number eight.

Steve had known that he should stop. He should have stopped before it even started. Eventually, Bucky was going to remember his time as the Asset—he was already remembering many of the earlier missions, but the more recent events were still hazy. He’d fucking told himself that the longer this went on, the worse the fallout would be when the inevitable happened. And now the inevitable _had_ happened, _in the middle of it, no less,_ and now Bucky had every right to see Steve as no better than all the HYDRA agents who’d used him.

But it was always so hard to remember why he needed to say no when the Asset would come begging, pleading, cock already hard and dripping, and fall to his knees at Steve’s feet.

Steve was only human.

And contrary to popular belief, he was not aways a good man.

He fell to his knees, arms around the bag, and slid to lay prone on the floor.

“Alright, man. Come on.” Sam grunted as he tried to lift Steve’s shoulders. “Christ you weigh as much as a tank. I’ll drag your stupid ass to the med bay if you don’t help me.”

“Jus’ leave me. Be fine in a min’,” he mumbled into the mat.

“Uh huh. Sure you will. What happened to your face?”

“Bucky hit me.”

“Yeah, I kinda figured that. Was it Bucky, or the other guy, though?”

“Bucky,” Steve said, and started crying.

Sam groaned. “Shit, I’m gonna need help. Jarvis? Can you send a suit? Or a stretcher or somethin’?”

“Of course, sir.”

The last thing he remembered was a sense of floating through the air before he gave in to the darkness.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a moment here where some of you may be like "oof, too soon man.." and yeah. It's a crude joke. But I swear it has a purpose and is going to get turned around later on in the story. 
> 
> And...yeah. This chapter is kinda crazy. I'm sorry. This one and the next few will likely be short like this, with quick jumps between Bucky and the Asset and whoever else (probably Steve, maaaayyyyyyyybe Sam but I'm not sure yet) to create a specific pace and mental aspect until certain things get resolved.

“Nuh-uh. I can’t let you in there, man.”

Sam stood squarely in front of Steve’s door. The Asset had to admire his loyalty and determination, at least.

“Fuck outta my way, bird-brain. I’m not the one who put him in there.”

Sam folded his arms across his chest and widened his stance.

“I’m pretty sure that one—or both—of you are directly responsible for his actions that caused him to collapse, which is close enough for my logic.”

“Listen, I was happily getting split open and fucked through Cap’s mattress when Sargent Dumbshit took over and ruined everything. _He’s_ the one who broke Cap’s jaw, which caused his guilt-ridden ass to take it out on himself in the gym because he won’t fuck the other one, but can’t keep his dick outta me.”

Sam stared at him slack-jawed.

“There was so much in there that I did not need to know about. What the fuck, dude?”

“Sam,” Steve called softly from inside the room. “Let him in.”

“See?” the Asset said, flashing a smile at Sam.

“Don’t smile at me, man. That is just plain disturbing. Shit, I gotta go find some brain bleach. Did they keep any of your chairs? Maybe I can erase the last five minutes of my memory.”

The Asset flinched and covered it with a growl, fists clenched.

“Sorry, man. That was a shitty thing to say,” Sam said, sounding genuinely apologetic.

“Yeah, well, you’re a shitty person apparently.”

“Asset!” Steve said, a little louder this time.

“I’ll be seeing you,” he threatened, pointing his hand in a fake gun position and “shooting” at Sam between the eyes as he shoved his way past him and into Steve’s medical suite.

“Was that really necessary?” Steve asked tiredly.

“It was a shitty thing to say, sir!”

“I meant your statement before that.”

“Oh. Well, probably not?” he said with a shrug.

“I’m not sure I like friendly you. Maybe you should go back to not talking to anyone but me again. Any chance I could talk to Bucky?”

“Definitely not.”

Steve sighed, and managed to make it sound like the weight of the entire _universe_ was on his shoulders.

“It was worth a try,” he grumbled, hand over his face. “Asset. What happened last night is never happening again. I think it’s clear from your behavior just now that you are far more with it than you wanted me to believe. Which means you probably know how to take care of your own needs. So you’re on your own from now on, as far as that activity is concerned.”

The Asset swallowed. He’d been expecting as much, knowing how quick Steve was to throw himself onto the sword of martyrdom.

“I understand, sir. He is more important to you. You don’t want to hurt him. Well, not any more than you have. It’s honorable. It’s the right thing for you to do.” And yeah, so he wasn’t above a little bit of emotional manipulation, it was just one skill he’d been trained in—reading others.

“That’s not—damn it, you’re in his body, you matter too, I just—”

“Can’t let yourself want both of us?”

“Christ, I did _not_ sign up for this shit when I joined this program.”

“You think any of us did, sir?” It’s probably the most honest, most real statement he’s made since the first week of being here, and Steve doesn’t fail to notice.

Steve heaves another universe-weary sigh and meets his eyes.

“Listen. I get it. At least I think I do. You didn’t ask to be here, be...whatever it is they made you.” Steve flaps his hand through the air in the Asset’s direction. “But he is remembering you, and I’d bet my shield that you’re remembering him. I don’t even pretend to understand or know what is happening in your head. But I’m not touching either of you until you get your shit sorted.”

“And if what you want never happens? If we remain two separate identities?”

“Then I guess there will be three pissed off and pent up supersoldiers in this building.”

*****

“I want a brain scan,” Bucky announced as he waltzed into Tony’s lab.

Tony didn’t even look up from whatever he was welding.

“Didn’t we just do one like, three weeks ago? After you broke your back?”

“Yeah. But the switches are happening faster now. More easily. And I’m remembering more. Wait, I thought we were putting that piece like this?” He pointed to the blueprint still taped to the wall.

“Nope. I tested the aerodynamics. Won’t work. Too much down draft. Need to curve it this way.”

“Oh, okay. Can we not paint it red and gold? Can we do blue and black?”

“Metallic?”

Bucky rolled his eyes.

“Okay, fine, _metallic._ ”

“Sweet. I’ll send word to Bruce. Hey Jarvis?”

“I am composing the message as we speak, Sir. Sargent, when would you like your test?”

“Whenever he’s free or ready.”

“Very well, sirs.”

“Buckaroo, can you bend this—yeah, there, perfect, thanks.”

“Pepper is gonna kill you when she finds out about this, isn’t she?”

“Nah, she’s used to it by now.”

“I still want a steering wheel in it.”

“It will literally be just for show, it’s fucking flying car, Barnes.”

“Right. A flying _car._ Not a _plane_. I don’t want a goddamned cockstick in my hands.”

“I—I don’t think that’s what they’re called...”

“You can make it work, Tony.”

“Of course I can. But it’s going to look ridiculous!”

“Good thing it’s not yours then, huh?”

“Good lord, how did he put up with you?”

Bucky laughed. “Who, Steve or your—” Bucky gasped, stumbled, and fell to the floor holding his head.

"Buckaroo? Bucky, what's wrong?"

Bucky couldn’t answer, could only squeeze his eyes shut as he folded in on himself, kneeling on the floor with his head on his knees, screaming in terror.

“No, no, no, nononononononoooooo...”

“I’m going to need you to talk to me, buddy. What’s happening? How can I help?”

“No, god _damn_ it, no, you _fuckers_!” Bucky clenches his fist, slams it into the floor, and its his metal hand, the hand _Tony gave him_ , and it cracks the concrete floor, and Bucky wants to use that same hand to bash his skull in.

It’s no less than he deserves.

“Bucky? Hey, it’s okay, whatever it is, it’s okay, we’ll figure it out.” Tony places a hand gently, cautiously, on Bucky’s shoulder and he scrambles backwards, crashing into the work table, knocking things to the ground as he tries to get away from Tony.

“Don’t touch me!” he screams, with perhaps a bit more panic in his voice than he’d like.

“Okay, I’m sorry, that’s my bad. But I don’t know how to calm a deadly Russian assassin when he’s freaking out, so—”

Bucky whines at the choice of words and thankfully Tony gets quiet.

“Tony,” he whimpers, and stares up at him wide-eyed, arm still held out between them protectively, his heart in his throat, and his blood runs cold. How does he tell his only other friend in the world that _oh, by the way, I murdered your parents_?

“Memory?”

Bucky nods, unable to speak.

“Yours? Or...?”

Bucky lets his head loll to the side and stares off at a spot on the floor, eyes unfocused, voice low and flat.

“His. Theirs. I don’t even know what to call them. He was the one doing the actions, but he was always detached from it, like he was watching someone else do it. Never felt anything. So when the memories hit me, it’s like a double whammy. I get the horror of watching myself do whatever it is. And then I get the rage all over again, at Hydra or the Russians or whoever owned me at the time, for what they made me do.”

Tony cleared his throat and sat back, giving Bucky silent support and space at the same time.

“Do...do you want to talk about it?”

Bucky felt tears running down his face and buried his head in his hands as he sobbed. He absolutely _didn’t_ want to talk about it, but there was no way he could keep this to himself.

“It wasn’t an accident. I’m so sorry, Tony. I’m so, so sorry.”

“What wasn’t an accident? I don’t understand.”

“December sixteenth. Nineteen-ninety-one.”

“Bucky...no. Don’t—just no. Don’t say it.”

Bucky lifted his head and met Tony’s eyes, filled with both fear and tears of his own.

“I killed them. It was me. I killed your parents.”

Tony looks as though Bucky had just shot him in the stomach. It was a feeling he could sympathize with. He’d _liked_ Howard. The thought—hell, the realization—that he’d been responsible for their deaths made him want to throw up. Which, incidentally, is what Tony was doing at the moment.

Bucky didn’t dare move for fear of Tony lashing out at him. Not that he didn’t deserve whatever Tony might do to him. Instead, Bucky sat and cried as Tony dry-heaved into a can and DUM-E looked confused.

“Get out,” Tony finally whispered.

“Tony, I—”

“Please go before I do something I’ll regret later. Much, much later. This is me showing restraint, Barnes. Take it and run with it. Now.”

*****

Bucky woke when his ass met the floor as he fell from the bed. Another nightmare. Christ, it was like they’d never end. He’d started sleeping with half the lights on. After the first few times of waking, not knowing who or where he was, only knowing to scream for Steve, it seemed like a better plan.

Most nights it even helped.

Not tonight, though.

He couldn’t get the image of Howard’s face out of his head.

With a heavy sigh, he rose and padded silently into the hallway and up the single flight of stairs, until he was staring at the closed door. He thought he heard movement.

“Jarvis,” he whispered. “Is Steve awake?”

“Yes, Sargent Barnes,” Jarvis answered as quietly. “However, I feel I should inform you—”

It was too late.

Bucky opened the door, calling out for Steve, before Jarvis even finished saying his name.

“Hey, Stev—” the words died on his lips. “Oh.”

Well, that was one way to forget his nightmare.

Vaguely, he was aware of the sound of metal bending as his hand crushed the doorknob he held. Anger, rage, and pain swiftly coursed through him as he stared at the bed, where a very naked Natasha was sitting atop a very naked Steve, his cock very clearly inside her.

“Shit, Bucky! Buck, this isn’t—I swear—wait!”

“Save it, Rogers,” he growled, forcing his hand to release the knob as he spun on his heel. He forced himself not to run until he reached the stairs, and then he was lurching up them, taking them three and four at a time, until he crashed out onto the roof.

He held the railing firm, gulping air as he tried to stop himself from hyperventilating.

“Bucky, please, I can explain.”

_Of course_ that asshole had followed him up here.

“Bucky, please don’t,” Steve whispered.

Bucky narrowed his eyes. Did that motherfucker really think he was about to jump? Over him? Oh hell no.

“Fuck you, Steve!” he screamed as he spun, his left hand catching Steve squarely on the jaw. Maybe if he broke it enough times, Bucky could ruin that perfect fucking profile. _Try eating pussy for a few nights with a broken jaw, fucker,_ he thought to himself. “It’s gonna take a whole lot more’n you sticking your dick into some pussy for me to want to off myself. Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Bucky! Listen to me, please!” Steve reached for him and Bucky easily deflected the arm, shoving at the chest still slicked with sweat.

“Ain’t nothin’ to listen to, asshole. It’s clear you’ll take any hole except the one _my mind_ is in, so don’t bother. I don’t know what happened between the bridge and the other night, but you know what, good for you. I’m glad you’re getting all the action you never had before.”

Steve grabbed Bucky by the head and tried to kiss him, broken jaw not withstanding.

“I love you!” he sobbed, and it was then that Bucky noticed the sickly sweet smell on his breath.

“Get off me!” Bucky yelled and shoved Steve away. “You fuckin’ stink. The fuck have you been drinkin’?”

“’S Thor’s ass liquor. Ass-guard. Guard liquor. If I drunk enough I get drink.”

“Jesus Christ, Steve. Go back to your fucking room and sleep it off. I’m moving out tomorrow anyway.”

“What? No, Bucky, don’t leave, please, don’t leave me...” Steve’s eyes did this ridiculous puppy-dog bulge and he began to cry, _hard_ , and it was ugly, and Bucky was having a difficult time feeling bad for him.

“This is not your decision, Steve. It has nothing to do with you and everything to do with what _I_ need right now. And what I need is space away from you. I’m going back inside now. Stay here or go back to your room. Just stay the fuck away, okay?”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, this chapter is a bit lighter than the last one...mostly because I have entirely too much fun writing Sam, and I swear if the F&WS show doesn't go something like this I'm going to be crushed, lol.

“Uh, dude? Where ya going man?”

Bucky turned and glanced at Clint, as he shoved the last box into the back of the SUV.

“Away from this fucking place. Can’t live here right now.”

“You going to ground?”

Bucky sighed. Clint was nice. Didn’t judge, always tried to make you feel better. Just a nice guy. He still wasn’t sure how the man had gotten mixed up with all the craziness of being an Avenger. Hell, _Clint_ probably didn’t even know.

“Nah. Just going a few miles away. Some place where I can’t see this tower out the window. Somewhere calm and quiet. I’ll be back for my doctors and stuff though.”

Sam appeared at the loading dock with his large army duffel slung across his back. Unfortunately, Steve was right behind him. Bucky sighed and gave Clint a pat on the shoulder before he got in behind the steering wheel. Sam threw his bag in the back seat and got in next to him. Steve tried to approach Bucky’s door, but Bucky turned the music up and closed the windows. He caught Sam’s raised eyebrow, but the man kept any opinions to himself. Steve stared after them like a lost puppy as Bucky pulled away.

After a few blocks, he turned the music down to a more tolerable level.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” he said softly.

“It’s not a big deal, man.”

“The hell it’s not. You have no reason to help me. I tried to kill you.”

“Listen, what you did, all those years, that’s what they _made_ you do. The fact that you are horrified by your actions tells me a lot. You’ve been alone for seventy years. I’m not going to make you be alone now. Not when I can help.”

“Christ, no wonder he likes you,” Bucky grumbled.

“Yeah, us do-good types tend to flock together.”

Bucky groaned. “Aw man, you totally stole that one! Now I can’t use it!”

Sam chuckled. “Bird jokes aside, next to Clint, I’m the one least personally invested in your recovery, which makes me more impartial. And I’m a hell of a lot more qualified than he is to help.”

Bucky shrugged. “I dunno. He’s not as stupid as some people think.”

“He’s a good guy. But he’s also not gonna leave Nat’s side.”

“Not like that’s the best place to be either. Maybe it _should_ be Clint and I together. Then we could at least commiserate and share notes about all the ways Rogers is a dumbass.”

*****

_Where the fuck am I?_

It’s not exactly a thought that the Asset is unused to having upon waking. But when a quick survey of the room revealed the bulk of his ( _their_ ) possessions, and the view through the window was entirely wrong, he felt panic start to rise. _What did that stupid motherfucker do to us now?_

_“Jarvis?”_ he tried. The lack of a response didn’t surprise him, but it still pissed him off. He rose from the bed and searched the room and small attached bathroom. Not one single weapon, not even a shaving razor. What the _fuck_ was wrong with Barnes?

“Are you _trying_ to get us killed, moron?” he growled. There was the sound of a television on in the building. The Asset yanked the bedroom door open and took in the hallway. Presumably two bedrooms, and a bathroom, and there were stairs going both up and down... _brownstone_ , his brain supplied, and _why the fuck did that sound like Barnes?_

The Asset stormed down the stairs in the direction of the noise.

“Yo, man, put some pants on! One week is _not_ long enough for me to be seein’ you in your drawers! What the hell?”

“What the _fuck_ is going on here?” the Asset demanded.

“Ah, hell. It’s you.”

“Yeah, it’s _me._ What the fuck did that idiot do? Where am I? And why am I with _you_ of all people?”

“Fuck you too, asshole. I ain’t here for you. I’m here for him. And he’s here, because _here_ is better for him than the _Tower_. He can’t get better with Steve all up in his shit and all up in his head. So go on back upstairs and get yourself comfy. Or get yourself gone, for all I care. This is _Bucky’s_ safe place.”

“This place is a tactical nightmare,” he growled. “We belong at the fucking _Tower_!” He practically screamed the last word.

Sam smirked. “Good luck with that,” he said, looking like he knew some cosmic secret.

The Asset glared at him before turning on his heel and taking the stairs two at a time. He pulled on a pair of jeans, a long-sleeved shirt and a pair of boots before stomping back down the stairs.

Sam waved from his spot at the kitchen island.

“You wanna turn right, dude. It’s like, seven miles though, you might want to grab a cab. You need some cash?”

The asset flipped a metal finger in the air over his shoulder as he pushed through the door.

It didn’t take long for him to reach the tower, but his mood was far from improved once he was there.

“I _do_ apologize, sir, but I am not allowed to take you to the team’s floors.”

“What the fuck are you talking about, Jarvis?”

“My apologies, sir. But the Winter Soldier is not permitted on the premises beyond the main lobby.”

“How can you even tell the difference between us? You’re a goddamned computer program!” He’s about to launch into a tirade when the elevator doors open and Natasha steps out.

“What did you do?” he accuses.

“Don’t blame me, Soldier. This is all Barnes and Stark.” She appeared to inspect the fingernails of one hand before returning it behind her back, standing at-ease before him, looking bored. He knew it was all an act though, for the eyes of the public. A group of onlookers had gathered at the other end of the lobby, apparently interested in the stand-off at the Avengers’ private elevator bank.

“So find a way to let me in! Wait—they did this _together?”_

“Yeah, it turns out that even though Stark knows about what you did, he still really likes Bucky and wants to help him. So you are not getting clearance any time soon, I’m afraid.”

A faint whistle from above him caught his ears and he sighed.

“Clint’s got an arrow on me from somewhere, doesn’t he?”

“Yup,” Natasha said, popping the ‘p’.

“Any chance I can talk to Steve?”

“Nope.” She repeated the emphasis on the consonant.

The Asset glared at her.

“This isn’t over. I’m getting in there. This is bullshit. I want my stuff.”

“Yeah, that is absolutely the _last_ thing that is going to happen. On everyone’s orders. Barnes, Stark, Rogers, mine...”

“I only answer to Steve.”

“Well that sucks for you then. Cuz he agreed to take your gear away. Go back to the house, Soldier. There is nothing here for you right now.”

The Asset ground his teeth but kept his mouth shut. Instead of turning around, and storming through the crowd and their cellphones—because the last thing he needed was for any Hydra remnants to know he was still alive—he eyed the door leading to the restricted access loading bay. He pointedly looked between Natasha and the door a few times without saying a word. Her gaze flicked over his shoulder and she sighed.

“Yeah, I’ll get you out the back door. Clint, you copy?” She appeared to be listening to something for a moment before looking back at the Asset. “Tony is looking for any reason, no matter how small, to take you down. Do yourself a favor and don’t try anything.”

“ _This is fucking bullshit,_ ” he repeated in Russian.

“Perhaps,” she said with a shrug.

He was still angry when he returned to the ridiculous house Barnes had moved them into.

“Wilson!”

“Quit bellowing at me. I’m right fucking here.”

“How long is he planning on living here?” he demanded.

“Beats me.”

“How long are _you_ planning on living here?”

“Oh, I’m sticking around longer than you, that’s for sure.”

The Asset paced the living room, occasionally checking out the windows. He’d taken a longer, more circuitous route back to the house, but just in case he’d been followed...

“Don’t you even want to know why he did it?”

He came to a stop, toying with the edges of the curtains— _is this reinforced glass? And kevlar in the curtains?_ he noticed—and stared out at the _quaint_ little street they were on in the _quiet_ neighborhood.

“I don’t need to ask,” he finally admitted, a begrudgingly admiring tone to his voice. “It’s what I would have done in his position. It gives him the advantage.”

*****

Bucky sat in the oversized chair across from the therapist that Pepper and Sam had vetted to hell and back when they’d brought him on staff for Bucky’s recovery. The first visit had been awkward: he’d been expecting a woman, not a man missing half his right arm and all of his right leg and covered in burn scars.

But if anyone could understand years of torture and PTSD, it certainly was another POW. And Greg was pretty chill. Didn’t push Bucky.

“How are things going in the new place? You canceled last week’s visit because you’d just moved.”

“It’s going pretty well. I slipped for about a day, lost control and dissociated.” The word still felt odd rolling off his tongue, but it was better than saying he’d reverted to Assassin mode.

“Do you have any memories of that time?”

“Yes and no. It’s hazy, like I’m trying to scope a target through heavy fog and shifting winds. If I focus too hard, I lose sight completely. According to Sam, he—I know I’m supposed to say ‘ _I’_ but that still feels weird—sulked around the house trying to find his gear. And tried to get back into the tower. But Tony and I set Jarvis to not let me in when I’m not me.”

“Did you do that because you’re afraid of what might happen with Steve if the Asset is around him?” Greg jotted down very few notes as they talked each week, but he always remembered details. Bucky wondered if he had an eidetic memory like Steve, since he wasn’t allowed to record their sessions.

“If you’re getting agitated we can talk about something else.”

For a second Bucky wasn’t sure what Greg was talking about. Then he noticed the pencil in his hand, dancing along and between the fingers of his right hand, flipping and spinning around like it was a knife. He caught the pencil in his fist and squeezed, stopping just shy of snapping the wood.

“He doesn’t like when I talk about him. I can feel him in the back of my brain, trying to claw his way out and take over and make me shut up. He’s been pacing since I got here. He wants out. Wants Steve.”

“Do you want to talk about what happened with Steve?”

Bucky laughed bitterly.

“I know that _Steve_ wants to talk about what happened. He thinks I’m upset about him fucking Natasha.”

“Are you?”

“Not really. I mean, I was, that night that I found them together. But I suppose it’s only fair, only what I deserve.”

“Is that what you think? That you deserved it? That he was trying to hurt you?”

“Sure, I deserve for all those years he had to watch me, see me, hear me with all the dames so that I could keep our secret safe.”

“But it doesn’t have to be a secret now.”

Bucky shrugged.

“We aren’t—weren’t—even officially together. He can stick his dick wherever he wants. No, I don’t think he’s trying to hurt me. Not intentionally.”

“But it still hurt.”

“Yeah,” he said softly, gaze locked on the pencil as it snapped. “Yeah, it fucking hurt.” He didn’t bother wiping away the few tears that escaped. Greg had seen him sobbing over far worse things than Steven fucking Rogers.

Greg gave a heavy sigh.

“He gave me something to pass along to you. If you want it.”

Bucky’s head snapped up at that. He saw Greg pulling an envelope from beneath his notebook.

“Apparently you’re not talking to him?”

“He wouldn’t leave me alone!” Bucky shouted. “He was calling me and texting me all hours of the day and night! I had to have Sam show me how to block his number! How can I fucking deal with what happened between us, what he did to the Asset, what he _won’t_ do to me, and get control over my own goddamned mind if he won’t leave me be?”

Greg’s eyebrows climbed into his hairline as he looked pointedly at Bucky.

During his outburst, Bucky had risen to his feet and in his anger, he’d flipped the side table next to his chair, sending it flying hard enough to crash into the wall and break.

“I think we should talk about what you just let slip. What you’ve been deliberately not talking about for weeks now, even though I could see that there was something there.”

“You don’t wanna hear about my alter-ego getting dicked by my...whatever the fuck Steve and I are...when he won’t dick me.”

“Well. That’s...something.”

*****

" _Sonofabitch!"_ Bucky cursed as he pulled the pan off the burner.

"Buck?"

"Why the fuck is everything electric!? Electric _heat_ , electric _stoves, ovens, everything!_ Why can't I just have a simple fucking gas stove!"

"Uh...burnt the eggs?"

" _Yes,_ I burnt the fucking eggs _again_ because this goddamned stove is fucking stupid!" He threw the pan, eggs and all, into the sink.

"Hey man, you can't do that, it'll ruin the pan."

"I'll buy a new one then!" Bucky yelled.

Sam appeared to assess the situation for a moment before entering the kitchen fully.

"You want to tell me what's going on? You've been pretty quiet since you got home yesterday."

"No."

"Okay. Want me to make breakfast?"

" _Yes_."

Bucky took his coffee to the island and sat heavily on the stool as he watched Sam cook.

"It's just fucking Steve, thinking he can write me a fucking apology letter that's a fucking novel and that everything will be better and it's fucking _not_ better, and I'm so fucking frustrated cuz I can't even manage to jack off anymore so why the fuck do I think I can have sex with him and of course the fucking _Asset_ can get it up no problem so maybe I should just go to the tower and let him have his way and let Steve fuck him so that at least _one_ of us gets some relief and I'm so fucking tired of fighting _myself_ every moment of the day and it all just _sucks_."

Bucky let his head fall to the counter, forehead pressed against it and staring at the floor.

"Dude when's the last time either of us swept in here? Fuck. I'm gonna spend the day cleaning the house. I've been slacking on that. Sorry."

For several moments the only sounds were of Sam cooking. As he set a plate next to Bucky's head, he finally spoke.

"That...went a _lot_ of places. Is there anything in particular you'd like help with first?"

"Can you just shoot me?"

"I'm pretty sure Steve wouldn't like that."

" _Fuck_ Steve. Oh, wait, that's the problem, _I_ can't."

Sam shifted on his stool and cleared his throat. "It...seems like we should maybe address that issue first. Have you talked to your doctors about it?"

"Yeah, because I want five different people to know that _I_ can't get it up for the man I love, but my deadly assassin alter-ego has no problem with it and is getting the type of rough sex I've always wanted from Steve, getting dominated the way Steve's attitude always indicated he'd be capable of if his body had gotten the same memo? Thanks but no." He shoved a fork full of ham and cheddar omelet into his mouth. "And fuck you and your perfect eggs."

Sam buried his face in his hands. "I'm going to regret this, I know. But I can't let you suffer. If you want—"

"—Unh-uh. No way. I'm not fucking you. Not dragging someone else into this fucked up triangle."

"What?! No! That is _not_ what I was going to suggest! I don't swing that way, bro."

"Sorry," Bucky said, laughing at the horrified look on Sam's face. "I thought…"

"Yeah, it's obvious what you thought."

"I'm sorry. Please, continue. What were you going to say?"

"Some fucking breakfast conversation," Sam muttered. He took a big sigh. "As I was saying, I can't let you suffer. If you...do you think you know why? Why you can't, I mean."

"’Cuz I get halfway through and my mind twists, and instead of picturing Steve the way we were, it shifts to what happened the night I woke up naked in his room, and what he was doing to the Asset but won't do to me."

"Do you picture him every time? Steve, I mean."

Bucky stared at his plate. "I don't really have much else to work with. Can't really remember details of the girls before the war, cuz I didn't really want them anyway, just had to keep up appearances. For as long as I can remember jerking off, it was always Steve I was thinkin' of."

"Dude. That is just...sad. And I'm not even trying to be a smartass."

"Sure that you still don't want me to go find one of my chairs for you to erase the last few minutes from your brain?"

Sam gaped at him a moment before breaking out into laughter.

"Okay. This is what we're going to do. I have been single for a while now. The internet is your friend, my man. I'll show you a few sites. After that, we are _never_ speaking of this again. Unless it doesn't work."


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **CW/TW**   
> **MIND THE UPDATED TAGS**  
> Steve has a panic attack in this chapter, but he has someone there to help him out of it -- although their methods may not be the best, but it helps him. It's not long, but it's there. So, just a heads up. I did update the tags to include it, and I believe this is/will be the only one true panic attack in the story.

Steve’s ears rang from the explosion, but he didn’t let that slow him. He launched himself from the edge of the roof and caught the Iron Man suit in mid-flight, spinning as they fell to the ground, taking out the reactor in the chest with a vicious punch that may have broken half the bones in his right hand.

“Christ, Steve. Are you _trying_ to kill yourself again?”

There was a jarring in his left shoulder as Tony flew in and caught him, pulling him off the now-dead suit as it fell.

“Don’t see that as being such a terrible option right now, Tony. You could’ve let me fall.”

“If the fall from the bridge and the jumping out of a Quinjet _sans_ parachute didn’t seal the deal, falling from this measly height won’t do much more than sprain your ankle.”

“Then why did you swoop in to catch me?” Steve asked, catching his breath as Tony sets him down on the grass.

“ _A_ , because I’ve run out of suits for you to destroy in whatever self-destructive attempt number this is. _B_ , I don’t feel like listening to you whine while it heals and you can’t walk. And _C_ , because you have a phone call.”

“You couldn’t have just led with that, huh?”

“That wouldn’t have been as much fun.”

“And Peggy said _I_ was the dramatic one.” He sighed and held out his hand for the phone after rotating his shoulder back into place. He didn’t even know that Tony _used_ a regular phone anymore, since he used Jarvis for everything, but it was definitely a normal, cordless phone from inside the facility they’d come to upstate to burn off some steam.

“Ready? Okay, Jarvis is gonna patch you through. Reception is kinda spotty here, sorry about that.”

Steve’s brows furrowed as he tried to imagine who would have called Tony to get a hold of him. It’s not like he was high on many people’s friends lists these days. He honestly was amazed that Tony was still talking to him, considering how much he liked Bucky and it was Steve’s fault that he’d moved out.

There were a few clicks in his ear and then Jarvis’s smooth accent sounded.

“You are now connected. You may go ahead, sir.”

“Hello?”

“Steve.”

The air left Steve’s lungs in a rush, and it felt as though a fist squeezed his heart tight at the hesitant voice.

“Bucky?” he said, almost a whisper. It had been three weeks now since he’d left, three weeks since Steve had made the stupidest decision he ever could have made, and that was in a long list of dumb decisions. He swallowed hard. “How are you?”

“I’m doing okay.”

“That’s good, I’m glad to hear it.”

There was a silence for so long that he started to fear they’d lost the connection. Finally he heard Bucky sigh.

“I got your letter. I actually even read it.”

“Thank you for reading it.”

“It was tempting to just toss it in the fireplace, I won’t lie.”

“I can understand that.”

“Steve, listen, I...I’m gonna unblock you, okay? _But,_ if you start sending me eight thousand messages a day again, you’re getting cut off again.”

Steve’s head is nodding vigorously even though he knows Bucky can’t see him.

“Okay, Bucky. Thank you. I won’t go crazy again. I promise.”

“Just...keep it simple for now. I...I want to talk to you. It’s not going to be easy. But I think I can handle texting each other for now.”

“Anything you need, Buck. Whatever you want me to do.”

Bucky let out a shaky breath.

“Did you ever get any therapy? After you defrosted? After the Chitauri?”

Steve’s heart jackhammered in his chest.

“No,” he finally admitted, voice barely audible.

“Steve. After I fell from the train, your behavior...well, we all know what crashing into the ice really was. And then you let me nearly kill you before you broke through my brainwashing. You need to see a therapist, Steve. It’s not like it was when we were kids. There’s nothing wrong with it. There’s nothing wrong with asking for help. You are self-destructive. You always have been. Please consider it.”

He fell to his knees, broken hand fisting in the grass, the pain centering him.

“Is...is this a condition?”

“ _Steve_. I would never do that to you. I would never force you to do anything. You know that. I think you would benefit greatly from talking about what is going on inside your head. But I can’t make you do that. Just think about it, okay? Not for me, but for yourself.”

Steve forced himself to breathe evenly. Bucky wasn’t making this a condition of contact. He wasn’t. But if he was suggesting it...

“Am I really that fucked up?” he whispered, eyes squeezed shut.

“After what we’ve been through? I’d be more worried if you _weren’t_ fucked up, Stevie.”

And there it was— _Stevie—_ and just like that, he could breathe again.

“Okay. Okay, Buck. I’ll look into it.”

"Thank you."

Silence stretched between them again, but it wasn't as terrifying this time.

"I'm gonna hang up now, Stevie, okay?"

"Okay, Buck." His voice was small, even to his own ears.

"Steve, we'll get through this. It's just gonna take some time."

Steve sniffed. He hadn't even been aware that he was crying.

"I love you, Stevie. I'll talk to you later."

A sob escaped Steve's throat and he fell forward as the line went dead. He was in the same position, bent in half with his head in the grass, when Tony returned some time later, back in his regular clothes and carrying a bottle of water.

"You okay, Cap?"

Steve pushed up and fell back to sit on his ass.

"He said ' _I love you_.' Not past tense."

"Okay, listen. I've been quiet about all this. Mostly because I don't want to think about the two of you _fondueing_. But also, I am the last person to judge someone else for making terrible life decisions. Pepper is the only good decision I ever made. That being said, you fucked up _big_ with Bucky. And I _like_ him, so if you screw up this chance he's giving you to fix it, I'm kicking you out and he's moving back in."

Steve whimpered.

“Tony...Tony what do I do? How do I make this right?” His heart is pounding again, and even though he’d been fighting for the last hour, a chill races through him and he breaks out into a cold sweat.

“You do exactly what he tells you to do, for starters.”

Steve laughed, high pitched and manic.

“We would literally not be having this conversation if I ever listened to Bucky. I’d have been dead from one sickness or another before the war would have been over because I’d never have joined.”

“Well, you’re going to have to start, then, because...” The remainder of Tony’s words are gone, lost, not making it through the roaring in Steve’s ears.

“Cap? Capsicle? _Steve_? Can you—ah fuck, you’re gone.” The words are distant, coming from far away, and Steve can’t see him because everything has started to blur at the edges, all he can see is the green of the grass beneath him.

Steve registers a hand on his, holding it to a chest, and now he’s gasping for air, suffocating, drowning in the icy waters once more...

“C’mon, buddy, breathe with me. Follow me, deep breaths...”

And some part of Steve’s brain knows that Tony is trying to help, but it’s too much, it’s just like when he’d have asthma attacks and Bucky would hold him the same way, try to match their breathing, and Steve spirals off even further, falling, the ground falling away, floating, sinking beneath the waves, as the light fades to a single pinprick...

_Everything is Bucky. It always has been. What am I supposed to do without him again? How can I expect him to forgive me? He was always the one saving me, of course I fucked up saving him, I couldn’t save him on the train and I can’t save him from myself now..._

A hard, stinging slap jolts Steve into awareness and he’s got his arm twisted around, Tony’s hand bent back just shy of breaking point, before he registers that it is Tony before him, Tony who hit him, Tony who is the only one who hasn’t abandoned him.

“There you are. Welcome back. _Again_. How often do you get those, hmm? What else? I assume nightmares. Flash backs? Panic attacks, increasingly dangerous behavior...you’re a hot mess, Rogers. You want to help Barnes? Help yourself first. Because you’re no good to him like this.”

*****

“Wilson! What the _fuck?_ ”

“Man, what now?” Sam groaned.

The Asset stormed into the living room, tablet in hand, and threw it on Sam’s lap.

“This is _your_ tablet. We don’t have one. So why is it in our room, and the entire browser history is all _porn_?”

Sam shrugged.

“That _was_ my tablet. I gave it to him.”

“There are literally no other pages visited. All the therapy stuff and email is on the laptop. And there’s no porn on there. Only here. So I repeat: _what the fuck?_ What have you done?”

“He asked for help. I showed him online porn.”

“Have you _seen_ some of this?”

“Fuck no, I don’t want to know what he’s jacking it to. Why is this such a big deal?”

“It just is!” The Asset flung his arms in the air in frustration. “It’s just—he’s supposed to be the good one! And now he’s watching _that_! Bondage and submission and—”

“Man, shut the hell up, I _said_ that I don’t want to know!”

“I’m just saying, _I’m_ supposed to be the fucked up one here, but _he’s_ the one looking at shit like this like it’s all fucking just fine and it’s _not_!”

Sam eyed him a moment, and the Asset decidedly did _not_ like the look on his face when he spoke again.

“Is it that you don’t like what he’s looking at because it reminds you too much of what happened to you? Or is it because he likes it, despite what happened to you?”

“No way. You are not pulling your therapy shit on me. I get enough poking and prodding from Greg.”

“Just a question, man.”

“Fuck your questions.”

“Hey, take this with you!” Sam yelled after him as he stormed back up the stairs.

“Fuck!” he growled, kicking the bed frame and knocking it askew. He sat with a heavy sigh, head in his hands. Goddamned Wilson and his fucking questions. _Of course_ he hated some of the porn he’d seen on there because it was similar to what had happened to him. But the other part of it... _I always liked that kind of stuff. Well, the idea of it anyway. Didn’t really have easy access to BDSM porn to help me understand what I wanted back in the thirties, now did I?_

The Asset shook his head. It was _weird_ when he heard Barnes, heard his thoughts, while he was still the one in control of the body. _How do you think I feel, jackass?_

“What the fuck?” the Asset breathed out softly. He’d been having more awareness of his time as Barnes, but didn’t realize that Barnes knew when he was...watching, for lack of a better term.

_You’ve met Banner. I’ve come to realize that we’re not much different from him. I don’t see why we need to continue this Jekyll and Hyde routine though. We can work together._

“This is gonna get fucking _weird_.”

_News flash, pal, it already is._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So in my head and with my betas I've been calling this new Bucky-Asset-somewhat-merged personality "winterbuck" and I love it and it is an endless source of entertainment for me to write and I think winterbuck is my new OTP...however complicated that is, lol.


	14. Chapter 14

Bucky rolled his shoulders as he stared in the mirror. He didn’t recognize himself in the person he saw before him. He’d always had a healthy build, and decent muscles from working physical jobs. But since the serum, and the training, and his body having to compensate for the extra weight of the arm, he was huge. Not as huge as Steve, of course, but still. Then there was the angry mass of scars circling his shoulder, and all over his body—stab wounds, gun shots, burns...he was admittedly a bit jealous of Steve’s healing ability and his lack of scarring. But the scars helped to paint a picture, to illustrate the void, remember the journey. They kept him grounded, helped him to keep focused on why it was so important to fight for his own mind.

_Thought it was_ our _mind now?_ he heard, but there wasn’t any anger behind the words.

“Yeah, ours,” he said with a chuckle as he rubbed his hand over his face, now clean-shaven. He hadn’t cut the hair though. He’d worn it a bit longer before the army, and this was longer than he’d ever worn it before, but he liked it. Plus...he still held out hope for his relationship with Steve, and he remembered how it had felt when Steve had controlled the Asset by the hair...a shiver ran through him.

_We don’t have time for a hard-on, dipshit._

Bucky laughed outright.

“I know, I know. You’re the one who can’t stop thinking about it though.”

_I’d rather think about that than watch the porn you like._

“I’d rather watch the porn than think about the fact that he’d do it to you but not me.”

_Fair enough._

It felt weird to talk out loud to himself and actually get a response, albeit from inside his head, but he was getting used to it. In a weird way, it was almost comforting. He’d never been completely oblivious to his surroundings, but he’d been a sniper. He’d focused and trained his world down to one single objective, one target. So it was nice to know that some part of him was always on alert. He certainly had no desire to be found by Hydra and reprocessed because he wasn’t paying attention.

_There’s no fucking way we’re getting reprocessed, pal. Don’t you worry. I’m not going back to that. We’ll die before I let that happen._

The intensity, the vehemence behind the words, gave Bucky pause and he met his own eyes in the mirror.

“You’re still hiding things from me, aren’t you?”

Bucky could _feel_ the Asset retreating, feel the anxiety rising within him as the body remembered things his mind couldn’t—or wouldn’t.

_You don’t want to know all of it. You know enough._

Bucky swallowed hard.

“Okay,” he said, taking a deep breath. “Okay. I’m sorry.” He got dressed in silence, turning up the volume on the stereo when a song he liked came on the radio, body swaying and bouncing slightly to the beat while he fixed his hair, pulling the top half of it back into a loose bun at the crown of his head.

_What the fuck are you wearing? Is this coffee or a fucking date?_

Bucky flinched, startled by the thought. He’d been zoned out and wasn’t expecting the Asset to speak up again for a while after the turn their earlier conversation had taken.

“What? What’s wrong with this?”

It was winter time, so he was wearing a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and a comfortable sweater.

_This shit is too tight. How can you even fight in this? What if something happens?_

“I am literally going to have coffee with Steve. If something happens and the two of us can’t defend ourselves, there’s a bigger fucking problem than me ripping my clothes. Besides, I look good.”

_You’re fucking hopeless. You’re going to get us killed some day._

Steve is waiting for him at the coffee shop. It’s a cozy little place with booths and couches and soft music and dim lighting, good for relaxing and having a quiet conversation. Steve has commandeered a corner booth away from the door, and rises to greet him.

“I...wasn’t sure how you took your coffee these days. If it had changed since you moved out. So I got you a cup of the dark roast and there’s packets of sugar and a little dish for...” he trails off, adorably unsure of himself and awkward, and it’s like 1930 all over again with him tripping over his feet—or in this case, his tongue—trying to put on a show of not being nervous.

Bucky smiles at him as he shrugs out of his jacket—he has no idea where Tony had found the coat, but it looked so much like the heavy blue one he’d had during the war and he knew it did wonders for the color of his eyes, and it was his favorite possession right now.

“Thank you, Steve. It hasn’t changed.”

Steve is eyeing him up and down, and it occurs to Bucky that Steve hasn’t seen him since he left the tower a month and a half ago. He’s filled out since then, put on some weight now that he’s eating regular meals and not just popping supplements. And he’s clean-shaven for the first time since the Helicarrier, a fact which pleases the Asset to no end because he’s been going on and on about the face mask and how it won’t fit if they have a beard.

“You look good, Buck. _Really_ good.”

Bucky politely doesn’t acknowledge the slight flush that dusts Steve’s cheeks when he says it. He’d always been Steve’s biggest weakness, especially when he poured on the charm. Even though he’s not trying to charm Steve today, he’s not unaware of his appearance. Steve, on the other hand, looks like crap. Or at least, Bucky can spot the signs. Most people likely wouldn’t notice the tightness to his shoulders, the weight that he’s lost, and the tiredness in his eyes.

“Not sleeping, Steve?”

Steve huffs out a breath and drops his chin to his chest.

“Never could hide a damned thing from you, could I?”

“Sweetheart, I know your face better than I know my own. I know when you’re torn up inside about something.”

“Or a lot of somethings,” Steve mumbles.

Bucky fidgets with the sugar packets to give his hands something to do so that he doesn’t reach forward and grab Steve’s hand.

“Steve, look at me,” he says softly and Steve lifts his head, blue eyes huge and miserable. “Steve, I have told you this in texts, but I’m repeating it now, face to face. I forgive you for Natasha. I’m not upset about that. It stung a bit, yes. But it’s okay.”

“God, Bucky, I was so, _so_ drunk. She was too. I know it’s not an excuse. And I know you said you forgive me for it. But I’m still sorry I did it.”

“What were you even drinking for?”

“It was her birthday. I bought her a bottle of vodka, and she complained about being the only one to get drunk, because Clint was still on his way back from a mission. And then she challenged me to match her with the stuff Thor brought from Asgard...”

“And God forbid you turn down a challenge...”

Steve smiled bashfully.

“Yeah, well...”

Bucky laughed.

_I told that woman he was ours. I’m_ going _to shoot her again._

_“No you’re not,”_ Bucky said softly.

“I’m not what?” Steve asked, confused.

“What? Oh, I said that out loud, I’m sorry.”

“Bucky?” Steve sat back, wary expression on his face as he eyed Bucky.

Bucky tipped his head to the side and scratched his temple, face scrunched up in confusion.

“I’ve been trying to figure out how to explain this to others. Greg says he’s never seen or heard of this before. But it hasn’t hurt me in any way. In fact, it’s actually been beneficial...” he took another drink from his coffee before continuing. “The swaps are gone. They’ve stopped.”

“That’s great, Buck!” Steve said excitedly.

“But the Asset isn’t gone. We’re just...both in here together. Sometimes I’m all me. Sometimes I’m all him. But the other one is always there, always aware, and sometimes I talk to myself. Literally. And I’ll forget to actually only _think_ it instead of _say_ it.”

“I...what?”

“ _Try to think of it as if Banner and the Hulk merged. That’s probably the easiest way to explain it.”_

Steve jumped, color draining from his face as the Asset’s voice came from him.

“I mean, I’m not going to be huge and green, obviously. But if his two personalities were to mesh together, what would happen? He’d be big, but still himself, right? At least, that’s how I picture it. That’s what happened here. I’m here. He’s here. Mostly I’m just me, and he throws his two cents in every now and then. Usually he just says it in here, though.” Bucky tapped the side of his head.

“That’s...a lot, Bucky.”

“That’s why we’re here. It would make even less sense through text messages or email.”

“So what did you mean when you said ‘no, you’re not’?”

Bucky smirked.

“He wants to shoot Natasha again. I won’t let him. It’s an ongoing discussion. He’s quite possessive of you.”

Steve exhaled a heavy breath and studied him. They remained quiet for a few minutes, and Bucky let him process whatever was going through his head. Waited for the inevitable. Suddenly Steve’s eyes grew wide, terror on his face.

_Looks like he finally caught up._

_*Yeah, but keep your mouth shut before he bolts. He looks like he’s gonna puke.*_

“Bucky...if...if you’re _merged_ or whatever you call it...does that mean you remember, you know...everything?”

“Breathe, Steve. Focus on my face.” He slid his arm across the table, holding his hand out for Steve to take.

“You do, don’t you? All the—the years...and, and...oh God...”

_How the fuck did he become a war hero if he can’t handle the thought of torture?_

_*Because he fought to_ end _the torture, idiot!*_

Bucky slid from his bench and squished himself in next to Steve, who flinched away from his touch.

“Stevie, it’s _me_. I’m not going to hurt you. Look at me.” He grabbed the sides of Steve’s head, forcing him to meet Bucky’s gaze. “I remember most of my time as the Asset, yes. There are blank spots still, things that he says I don’t want or need to know. And for now, that’s fine.”

Steve’s eyes look haunted by the knowledge.

“And...what I...”

“That is something we need to talk about still, yes. But not today.”

Steve buries his face in Bucky’s neck and clings to him, sobbing.

After consoling Steve for a few minutes, Bucky rests his cheek on the top of Steve’s head and speaks quietly, voice low so that only Steve will hear him.

“Stevie, I’m gonna tell you something. And I want you to listen, and just think about what I’m saying. You don’t have to respond if you don’t want. Just hear me. Okay?”

Steve nods his head. The crying has stopped, but now that Bucky is holding him, Steve isn’t budging.

“The first time I saw you after the serum, when you saved me from that table, my initial reaction, once the relief of knowing I wasn’t going to die there passed, wasn’t shock. It was lust. And then that became anger. I was angry at myself, so of course I misdirected it and threw it back at you, for letting them experiment when it coulda killed you. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I was super pissed at you for that, because if you’d died in some crazy scheme to try to get into the war and left me alone when I got home, I don’t know what I would have done.”

Steve’s arms tightened around Bucky’s waist.

“But I was angry at myself for how I reacted to your new body. You see, I loved you. It shouldn’t have mattered. I loved you small, I shouldn’t have loved you more just because you were big. I told myself, you were still the same person, I shouldn’t want you more now just because your outsides matched your insides. ‘Cuz you were always ten foot tall and indestructible inside, babydoll. And now you looked the part. And it made me _weak_ with how much I wanted you.”

Bucky paused and lifted his arm from where it was wrapped around Steve’s back to reach over and grab his coffee.

“Then I got selfish. You were _my_ Steve. And now suddenly you were Captain America, and the whole damned _country,_ hell, the fucking _world_ was looking at you like you were theirs, but none of them knew the real you, they just saw the fame.”

“The dancing monkey,” Steve murmured into Bucky’s chest.

“Right. You were their dancing monkey. To me, you were a god. I always knew you had greatness in you, and now you were showing them all. And I got to have a seat at the front of the ride, to watch it all unfold. You remember that fight we had? The first time I goaded you into fucking me during the war?”

“You thought I wouldn’t want you anymore because I’d changed and could have anyone.”

“And the fight after...”

“Didn’t wanna hurt you,” Steve pouts, burying his face further into Buck’s shoulder.

“Steve, I _loved_ it. I felt so good, knowing you wanted me that much still. I felt... _claimed,_ like I was _owned_ by you. It was perfect. And I hated myself for how much I liked it.”

“The forties sucked.”

Bucky chuckles, running his hand up and down Steve’s back.

“Yeah, babydoll, I know what you mean. There was a lot we didn’t know or understand or accept.” A shudder ran through Steve at the pet name.

“I didn’t hate myself because of what we did. I hated myself because I wanted it so bad. Wanted the _new_ you so bad. I was so hung up on the change in your body, the change in how everyone else treated you, to realize that I still just wanted _you_. The bossy little shit who could never back down from anything. The one everyone underestimated. My stubborn little punk. You were still you, inside. And I couldn’t _see_ that at first. I couldn’t let myself want both of you. Couldn’t see that they were both you.”

Steve exhaled a long breath.

“Buck...”

A tone on Bucky’s phone chimed and he pulled it from his pocket.

“I gotta get going in a minute, Stevie. I have an appointment with Greg soon.”

Steve pulled back with a sniffle.

“Just think about what I said, okay?”

Steve nods his head mutely and Bucky presses a kiss to his forehead before he rises.

“God, I don’t deserve you.” Steve’s voice is shaky and he sounds emotionally wrecked as he sits up straighter and runs his hands through his hair.

“Sweetheart, you’ve been saying that since we were fifteen, and I’m still here. What does that tell you?”

“That you really are the stupid one?”

That drew a true laugh from Bucky, and he gives Steve a chaste kiss on the lips before he can think twice about it.

“I love you, punk. I’ve got to go. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”


	15. Chapter 15

Bucky left his appointment with Greg feeling good. He was emotionally drained, but good. His talk with Steve had gone well, really well, and he was pretty sure that Steve had gotten the message and understood what he’d been telling him. He decided to poke his head into Tony’s lab before leaving the tower, but ran into Natasha on the way there.

“Natalia, can we talk?”

He noticed the slight flinch in her jaw when he addressed her.

“I think that depends on who wants to talk to me,” she said cautiously.

“Well, you see, that’s technically both of us now.”

He watched the wall go up as her posture straightened.

“So. You’ve remembered.”

“Sort of. We’re kind of...co-habitating at the moment. Not fully merged or anything, but both conscious. I don’t know how to explain it in any way that makes sense.”

“I think I know what you mean.” Her tone was cool, but there was a look in her eyes that said she knew _exactly_ what he meant.

“Can we go...” Bucky looked at his watch. It was just after three in the afternoon. “Fuck it. Let’s go to the bar.”

“Shit,” she said. “I was hoping this wouldn’t be that kind of conversation.”

Though she appeared reluctant, she followed him to the bar in the common room and took a spot on a stool while Bucky inspected the shelves of liquor.

“Damn, you guys really do only have the good stuff,” he commented as he pulled out a bottle of Talisker scotch. “Never really got a taste for vodka,” he said in response to her raised eyebrow. “More of a whiskey and scotch guy myself.”

Natasha accepted the tumbler from him and knocked it back with barely a grimace.

“So what’s on your mind? Mind _s_? Should I make that plural?”

“Hah. You’re hilarious.”

“You called me Natalia. I can hazard a guess as to what you want to talk about.”

Bucky took a deep breath as he twirled the glass and studied the amber liquid. Feelings, sounds, brief flashes of images ran through him as he tried to piece together what he wanted to say. His gaze fell on Natasha’s downcast eyes and he tried to reconcile the woman before him with the young girl whose screams and tears currently haunted him.

“I know, logically, that it wasn’t me. That I’m not liable for the things I did while I was brainwashed. And I know that there are things that the Asset is still keeping from me. Things I don’t remember. But I remember bits and pieces from the Red Room. Mostly centered around you.”

Natasha held out her glass for a refill and he obliged.

“Like I told you, neither of us were ourselves.”

Bucky looked at her, brows raised in surprise.

“You saying you don’t remember?”

“I’m saying I try not to if I can,” she shot back, swallowing her drink.

“I certainly don’t blame you. But right now, I can’t forget.”

Natasha clinked their glasses together. “Here’s to the pasts we can’t escape.”

“A-fucking-men, sister.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes before Natasha spoke again.

“What do you want to know?” she asked softly.

_Don’t you fucking dare. This is not a thread you want to unravel_ , the Asset growled in his head.

“I don’t want details,” he hedged, choosing his words carefully. “But...what I did...was _made to do_ to you...I’m not stupid, Natalia. Did they have me do that to other girls?”

Natasha sighed, but she lifted her head and held his eyes firm.

“Yes.”

Bucky let loose a string of curses in Russian and tightened his hand around the bottle. His head dropped, and he stared at the impeccable surface of the bar, unshed tears brimming in his eyes.

_You stupid fuck. Why do this to yourself? How can I protect you if you won’t let me?_

_*I’d rather have this kind of conversation with her than have something bombard me at an inopportune time.*_

“Thank you for telling me,” he finally managed as Natasha’s hand covered his.

Bucky heard footsteps approaching and lifted his head, meeting Clint’s gaze as he knocked back the rest of his glass and immediately refilled it.

“Are you supposed to be drinking?” Clint asked.

“Fuck off.”

“I’m going to assume that’s a no.”

Bucky sighed and ran a hand over his face.

“It’s not encouraged, exactly...”

“The last time I left Nat to drink alone with a supersoldier bad things happened.”

“Leave him alone,” Natasha said softly, taking Clint’s arm and wrapping herself around it. Clint looked surprised by the open show of emotion, and looked back and forth between the two before stepping in closer to her. She immediately burrowed deeper into his side, and he cradled her head protectively with his free hand.

“What the fuck?” he breathed, confusion warring with concern on his face.

Bucky slid his glass towards Clint and raised the bottle in a mock salute before taking a deep pull from it.

“To pasts we can’t escape, indeed.”

*****

The Asset was uncharacteristically quiet for a few days after the conversation with Natasha. Bucky wasn’t sure if it was because he was angry with him or something else. Whatever it was, Bucky had spent the last few days carefully reading through more of the files they had on him. It was slow going, because while he could easily speak Russian, reading it was far more difficult.

_Don’t open that one._

The command was gruff, unexpected, and Bucky jumped, his hand freezing in mid-air over the next folder in the stack.

“Why?” he asked, not sure what kind of response he’d get.

_Just fucking listen to me this time. Don’t open that. It...you don’t want to know about the early training techniques. The things they’d do to try to find your limit. How they broke you._

“Fucking hell. Fine.” He slid the file into the middle of the stack of ones he’d already read. “Wait a minute. Have you been letting me struggle to read all this? When you can read it perfectly fine?”

_...possibly?_

Bucky laughed.

“Asshole,” he said, a grin on his face.

Bucky’s phone chimes and he looks at the message.

_**Hey, are you awake?** _

It was Steve. Bucky looked at the time. Shit, it was one a.m. already.

_**Yeah, just reading. What's up?** _

_**Can I call you?** _

Bucky thumbed the little phone icon in response, and Steve answered almost immediately.

"You okay, Stevie?"

"Yeah, I just...I wanted to talk about the stuff you suggested I look into."

All thoughts about Hydra and missions and underground bunkers disappeared as Bucky's brain immediately switched gears.

"What did you think?" He asked, keeping his voice as calm and even as he could.

"I...I had sort of looked into it before. When...when Natasha and I first...well...anyway. I um, I went a lot more in depth after you asked me to." There's an audible click in Steve's throat as he swallows. "I...god, Buck, it makes so much sense. But I can't ask that of you. Not after everything they did."

"Steve. You don't get it, do you? I always wanted that with you. I think that's part of why it was so effective with him. Because it filled a need within me."

The Asset remains surprisingly quiet on that topic.

"You—you what?"

"Steve, c'mon. When was I ever able to tell you no? When did I ever not follow you around like a lost puppy? I always put you first, above everyone. I have only ever wanted to take care of you, make you happy, make you feel good. I've always been yours, at your beck and call. Didn't you ever stop to wonder why?"

A choked off whimper is Steve's only response. Bucky waits, listens as Steve gets his breathing under control. When he speaks, his voice is barely above a whisper.

"What...what did you want me to do?"

Bucky looks over at his bedside table.

"Do you have a laptop or tablet handy? Something that you can get into your email?"

"Uh, yeah I can grab it. Why?"

"Gonna send you something. Gimme a minute." Bucky hastily shoves all of the files to the side and grabs his tablet. It's easy enough to get to some of his favorite videos and copy the links into an email to Steve. They remained on the phone in silence, the only sounds those of their breathing and the rustling of fabric as they moved around.

"Okay, I sent it."

There's a slight pause, and then—

"Yup, I got it—oh. _Oh_. Did...did you want me to watch this right now?"

"Yeah, yeah I do. I figured it's easier to show you what I like than to try to explain it. Then we can talk about it afterwards."

"Are...are you going to watch it with me?" The breathless excitement in Steve's voice affects Bucky more than he anticipated. He hadn't planned on watching at the same time, but now it seems like the best idea in the world.

“I can. If you want me to.” It’s almost embarrassing how much he wants Steve to say yes.

“I think that might help. Yes. Please.”

“Of course, Stevie. Start at the top?” He’d only sent Steve three links, relatively short clips of only a few minutes each, but they were perfect for showcasing the things he liked.

“Yeah, okay, ready?”

They clicked on the links and Bucky turned the volume on his tablet down so he could focus on Steve’s reactions and words.

By the time they’re done watching the third one, Bucky is achingly hard from listening to the sounds coming from Steve.

“So that’s...you want that. To be restrained?” Steve picked the easiest aspect to focus on, but that was okay.

“Not all the time. And not to where I couldn’t get out, so no tying to the bed. But being overpowered by you? Held down? Fuck yes, Stevie.” He grinds his hand over his cock, trying to alleviate some of the pressure without actually shoving his hand down his pants.

“I...I was always so desperate to make it good for you. To make you not want anyone else...but this...it seems like it’d be all about me, not you.”

Bucky takes a deep breath and forces himself to say the words, give voice to the realization he’d been feeling out in his brain.

"When I first got to the tower, I'd wake up from my times as him...unsettled. But I've figured it out now. I put it together. Once you started fucking him, it was better. _He_ was better. Calm. I...I always wanted to be everything to you, Steve. Even when you were a skinny little shit who'd let other guys kick his ass when you couldn't fuck me the way we both wanted, because you needed something to take that edge off. Fight or fuck, that's how you've always been. Then during the war, you were big enough to really push me around, but you were too scared and held back. But now? Christ, Steve, I can fucking _take_ it _._ And I want that. I want you to leave me sobbing, wrecked, broken and bleeding, because I'll know I've finally been able to give you that feeling of peace you've been chasing since I pulled you from that first fight. I want you to use me, Steve. I want to serve you so fucking bad it hurts."

“Christ, Bucky,” Steve groaned.

“Sitting here now, talking about it, watching those clips and trying to figure out which parts you liked best, it’s got me all worked up. You’ve got to be just as hard as me. You can’t tell me you don’t want that, too.”

“Bucky, it feels...it feels wrong to want that.”

“Because you don’t really want it, or because it’s me?”

“Because I feel like, after what they did, it’s not, not right for you—”

Goddamn Steve and his righteous moral code. Bucky cuts him off as his erection flags.

“Steven Grant Rogers. Don’t you _dare_ try to tell me I don’t know what I want. For starters, I’ve discussed this at far more length than I care to think about with my doctors and my therapist. _Especially_ my therapist. I’ve been wanting you to fuck me through the mattress since the first time you stuck your dick in me, pal. I was always scared it’d be too much for _you_ , that you’d have a breathing fit, or your heart would get all crazy. So I never asked for this kind of stuff. Not til after you were bigger. And now that we really know what we’re talking about here, better’n what we knew in the war, and we both know how much sense it makes in regards to our relationship, I don’t see the fucking problem. Unless the problem is you not wantin’ me.”

“Bucky—”

Bucky won’t let him finish, though. Not now. Not when he’s this worked up and on a roll.

“Tell me. Tell me that you didn’t get hard, that you weren’t picturing us, picturing _me_ , imagining doing those things with me. You tell me that none of that happened, and I’ll change the subject. And I’ll stop hoping that one day we’ll have sex again.”

Steve exhales heavily, and Bucky knows that sound, knows it’s the sigh of a defeated man, of the little shit he loves getting caught in something he can’t find a way out of.

“I...you’re right. You’re right, okay? Is that what you want to hear? Yes, it made me hard. Hell, just thinking about you holding me at the coffee shop the other day makes me hard because I want you so much. Yes, I want to do things like this with you. _To_ you. And I’m trying to convince myself that it’s okay to want this. Because _you_ want it too. I’m trying to remember that I need to forgive _myself_ for things that you’ve already forgiven me for. That I can’t carry the weight of the past into the future if I want to build a new life with you.”

Bucky’s heart stopped, and he held his breath.

“Bucky?” Steve asks at the prolonged silence, when only a minute ago Bucky had been just shy of full-on yelling at him.

“You’ve been seeing Greg,” Bucky chokes out.

“Yes. Several times a week, actually. For a few weeks now.”

“Steve, I’m so, so proud of you. I know how much you hate asking for help.”

“I’d do anything for you, Bucky, you know that. And...it’s helping. I do feel pretty good, most days. I know it’s still early on, but...yeah. You were right. My head is a disaster. So many changes that never got dealt with, and then the time in the ice...” Steve sighed. “I didn’t want to live without you, Bucky. And that hasn’t changed. I love you. I want the whole world to know. I want to live together, openly, grow old together...”

“That could take a long time, you know. Nobody really knows what the serum’s gonna do to us long-term.”

“I’ll be by your side as long as you’ll have me, Buck.”

“You sure you won’t get tired of my ass after a while?”

Steve laughs. “If we didn’t kill each other living together before the war, and we didn’t kill each other during the war, I’m pretty sure we can make it now. Besides,” he adds, voice dropping the slightest bit, “I’m pretty fond of your ass.”

“Yours ain’t so bad either, Rogers.”

There’s a moment of quiet mirth between them before Bucky breaks the silence.

“You want to see some of my other favorite fantasies involving my ass?”

Steve puffs out a surprised breath. “Yes?” he says, hesitantly.

“This one is a little longer,” Bucky says, copying the link and sending it.

Steve gasps when he opens the link.

“Jesus, Buck...”

“Yeah, looks a bit like me, huh? One reason why it’s one of my favorites. Makes it easy to fantasize about.”

“You...you’d want that?”

“Which part are you at?” he asks, just to hear Steve say it. He knows exactly where he is by the sounds of the video coming through the phone.

“He...where the... _the sub_ ,” Steve forces out, “he’s getting fucked with the dildo, while the...the Dom...he’s giving him a blowjob. But the sub is restrained, his hands are bound behind his back, that can’t be comfortable, he’s laying on them.”

“That’s the whole idea. He’s there for the Dom to do with as he pleases. His pleasure comes from making the Dom happy.”

“Now... _oh my god._ ” Steve’s breath is coming in short gasps as he gets more worked up, and Bucky can’t help but slip his hand beneath the band of his boxers.

“We never did try that. Sucking each other at the same time. If that was us and my hands were free I’d want to shove my fingers in your ass, fuck you like you’d be fucking me with that dildo, make you come, at least once, swallow you down as you fuck my mouth...”

Steve moans, and Bucky strokes firmly, palm sliding over the head and gathering the precome that’s already there.

“You want that, Stevie?”

“God, yes, Buck,” Steve pants.

“You touching yourself just thinking about it? I am.”

A whimper is his only answer.

“You wanna come with me, Stevie? I watch this video all the time, imagining that’s me, and that’s you pounding into me.”

On the screen, the Dom has removed the dildo and positioned himself between the sub’s legs, fucking into him at a furious pace.

“Buck!” Steve gasps.

Bucky’s hand moves faster; he can _hear_ Steve through the phone, hear him jerking himself roughly, matching the pace in the video.

“You got yourself, sweetheart? You getting close? I want to hear you. I miss those sounds. The little sighs and gasps and groans you’d make when I had my lips wrapped around you.”

“Oh god, Bucky!”

“Watch, Stevie. You got your eyes open? This is the best part.”

The sub comes, untouched, coating his stomach and chest in thick lines of white. The Dom pulls out and repositions himself, grabbing the sub by the jaw as he jerks himself and then he comes, shooting into the sub’s mouth and across his face and neck.

“See that, babe? He’s completely claimed by that Dom now.”

“Fuck!” Steve cries, and his breath stutters, and he moans, and the sound of it sends Bucky over as well.

“Steve!” he breathes, not quite a gasp, but not a whisper, the volume the same as it always was when it would be exhaled into Steve’s good ear, because they always had to be quiet, and some habits died hard.

“Jesus, Bucky,” Steve says when he’s finally caught his breath.

“Better now?”

“ _Mmm_ ,” Steve hums. “And you?”

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees. “Needed that.”

“Bucky...” Steve trails off, as though uncertain of what to say now even after what they’d just done.

“It’s okay, Steve. Watch a few more. It’s the best site I’ve found. They show only good practices, nothing questionable or unsafe. Get some ideas. Feel free to ask me about anything. I want you to be comfortable with this. If you have any reservations about any of it at all, we won’t do it. I don’t want to push you to do something you’re not ready for when the time comes that we find our way back to each other.”

“Still taking care of me, huh Buck?”

“Always, Stevie.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is for my beta loves, The_Reverend, TinMan85, and Gwenpools_Aesthetic <3 
> 
> TinMan85 wanted a "game night" for the boys, and then The_Reverend insisted I couldn't leave poor Steve home alone, and Gwenpools requested certain bits of dialogue...so yeah. This is for you guys. I couldn't have made it to chapter 16 without your help! I *think* there's only a few chapters left after this, so thank you all for sticking around this long!

“Sammy!”

“Kitchen!” Sam yelled back as Bucky clambered down the stairs.

“That smells amazing. What are you making?”

“Chili. ‘S got meat and beans and tomatoes and peppers and onions.”

“Got enough for a few more?” he asked, taking a spoonful to taste.

“’Course I do! You don’t make just a little bit of chili, man. Why?”

“Because I love you like a brother. I do. But I am so sick of seeing only your face and my therapist’s.”

“You saw Steve and Nat the other day...”

“Not the same and you know it.”

Sam set the spoon down and replaced the lid before turning to face Bucky fully, eyebrows drawn together in concern.

“So what did you have in mind? I don’t exactly do dinner parties, man.”

Bucky flashed his biggest grin, turning the charm up to ten.

“Poker night.”

Sam’s eyebrows shot up.

“Poker night?”

“Poker night,” Bucky confirmed, nodding his head.

Sam beamed.

“Poker night,” he agreed.

A few hours (and a trip to the store for cards and poker chips) later, Bucky had their dining room table set up for a boys night. There were plenty of snacks on hand, and Clint arrived with about twenty twelve-cut pizzas.

“Are you serious? We’ll never need that much pizza! Even with my eating habits!”

Tony’s Audi pulled up behind Clint’s Jeep.

“Buckaroo!” he called out when he saw Bucky in the doorway. Rhodey climbed out of the passenger seat and immediately had his arms filled with four cases of beer, while Tony carried two more.

“You guys are insane,” Bucky said, shaking his head as held the door.

“Rhodey’s in town,” Tony said as he walked past.

“I see that,” Bucky laughed.

“Five is better for poker anyway. Where we setting up?”

“Table’s ready in the dining room. Food and drinks in the kitchen, on the island.”

Everyone loaded plates with food and Bucky added another chair to the table.

“What are we playing? Standard seven-card stud? Or Hold ‘Em?” Rhodey asked as they got settled in and Bucky split the chips evenly between everyone. Bucky appreciated the question, that Rhodey even considered another option besides the more popular Hold ‘Em.

“I assumed you guys would only know Hold ‘Em. I’m better with the stud, because Hold ‘Em is newer, but I’ve seen some of it on tv and it seems pretty simple. I’m sure I’ll catch on quick.”

A half-dozen hands in and Bucky was indeed catching on quickly. His chips stopped decreasing and began increasing. Another dozen rounds later and he was winning more than he was losing. Surprisingly, it was Clint who was the hardest for him to read and tell when he was bluffing.

"You know, Tony, I'd almost feel bad for taking all your money if you didn't have so much of it," Bucky laughed as he raked the large pile of chips in.

"Fuck, I'm just glad we're not actually playing with real money. You're kicking my ass here. How many hands in a row is that now?"

"Seriously, you should join one of those tournaments or something," Clint said around a mouthful of pizza. Bucky had lost track of how many pieces the man had had, but it was a staggering amount.

"We had fuck-all else to do during the war," he said, getting quiet. "We'd play for cigarettes and rations. If you didn't want to starve you got good at poker. 'Course, then the dancing monkey arrived and the Howling Commandos started and suddenly we had everything we needed cuz he was there."

"Well that was a major buzzkill. Thanks, man," Sam pouted.

"What are you complaining about? At least you're still in the game," Rhodey shot back, throwing a pretzel across the table.

"Learn how to bluff better then," Tony answered.

“Oh, you’re one to talk, you’ll be the next one out at the rate you’re going!”

"Here, I'll sit out a hand, will that help get all your panties untwisted?" Bucky tossed in the chips to cover the opening bet and went to grab another beer, bringing a handful of empties to the kitchen with him.

"Bring me back one too!" Sam yelled after him.

Bucky returned with the drinks and watched Tony swirling his glass. His scotch was significantly watered down at this point from the melted ice. And two hours into the night, he was still only on his first drink. Bucky knew that Tony had been cutting back on his drinking, but even this was less than normal. He couldn't help but wonder if he was the reason for it, if Tony was on alert for any signs of the Asset.

"Damn, Barnes. How many is that now? Do you even feel anything from drinking? Or...?" Rhodey asked.

Bucky leaned back in his chair, watching Sam deal the flop.

"Nah, I got the discount serum, remember? I'll get drunk eventually, but not really off of beer. I'd have to be pounding them back one after another non stop. The heavy stuff, liquor, can still do me in. But I'd need a couple cases of this weak ass American beer to feel something besides a full stomach."

"Then why drink it?"

"To feel normal? Because I like the taste? The same reason I drink coffee. Caffeine doesn't do shit for me either. But I like it."

“So it’s kind of like a comfort thing then?”

Bucky shrugged.

“Sure, you could look at it like that. I’m just happy to be back to eating and drinking anything and everything. Took a while for my system to readjust there at first. Hard to feel normal when you can’t do anything a normal person does, you know? Even if I am enhanced.” He wiggled his metal fingers for emphasis.

“Shit!” Clint cursed when Sam showed his cards, taking the hand.

Bucky grinned.

Tony’s phone began blaring an alarm in his pocket and it took every ounce of self control he possessed for Bucky to not go into a defensive posture.

“Talk to me, J,” Tony said, sounding only mildly concerned as he held the phone up in front of his face. Bucky knew better by now though, and recognized the worry in Tony’s eyes as he scanned the information scrolling across the screen.

“Sir, there have been reports of activity at the upstate complex,” Jarvis’s smooth voice sounded.

“Do we have a visual? Bring it up.” Tony set his phone on the table and an image appeared above it of Steve, on his back, in street clothes, shield on his arm, lying in the middle of a freshly-made crater in the middle of a clearing in the trees. And he was _laughing_. Bucky wasn’t sure if everyone else could hear Jarvis or if it was just his enhanced hearing, but they could all definitely see the video.

“What is that stupid fuck doing?” Bucky groaned.

There was movement at the rim of the crater, and then they all saw Thor pushing to his feet, an equally big grin on his face as he walked towards Steve and held out an arm to help him up.

Tony made an exasperated noise and rolled his eyes.

“J, is there anyone else there? Or just those two idiots?”

“Scans show no other life signs, sir. Captain Rogers and Thor appear to be alone.”

“Ugh. Whatever. They’re fine then. Let me know if they damage any buildings. But if they’re just beating each other up out there for some reason, I don’t care.”

“Very good, sir.”

Tony tapped a button and slipped the phone back into his pocket.

“Buckaroo, you back in this hand? It’s your turn to deal.”

*****

Steve had been moping around the common room when he heard and felt the unmistakable arrival of Thor on the landing pad.

“You know, you could call. I’d have picked you up if you needed a ride.”

“Ahh, no need for you to have come to Europe. I do not believe you enjoy the mountains of Switzerland, if I am correct?”

Steve flinched slightly and swallowed hard.

“Not particularly, no.” He noted the bag slung over Thor’s shoulder. “Is this not a social visit?”

Thor cleared his throat and looked around.

“Is anyone else here?”

“Not at the moment. Pepper is off doing something for the company. Natasha is on assignment undercover in like, Borneo or somewhere ridiculous. Clint, Tony, and Rhodey are at Sam and Bucky’s place for a poker night.”

“Ah, yes, poker! I have heard of this game. I do not understand it. Is that why you are not with them? Do you also not understand the game?” Thor set his bag and Mjolnir on a nearby chair before heading for the bar.

“No, that’s not exactly it.”

“Wait, Bucky...I recall you speaking of such a man. Is your old friend still alive then?”

It suddenly occurred to Steve how much Thor had missed out on while he was away with Jane and he blew out a breath.

“Long story short, yes he’s alive. Did you see any news from America where you were? Do you know about the fall of SHIELD? The helicarriers? The man I fought?” _And nearly died fighting,_ Steve doesn’t add.

“I did see a bit, yes. I spoke with Tony, but it was decided that I lacked a certain...stealth...that was needed for the task of hunting down remaining Hydra factions.”

Steve couldn’t necessarily argue that point.

“I thought I had brought more Gruenhel’s ale the last time...?”

“It should be there, keep looking,” Steve said, avoiding the topic. “Anyway, it turns out that the man who tried to kill Nick and that Natasha and I fought was actually Bucky. He survived his fall from the train and was found by a Russian sect of Hydra and they...remade him. He has since broken through the brainwashing and is living with Sam nearby.”

“Ah, is Sam his lover? That is wonderful that your friend has found someone.”

“No! No, he’s not, he’s...no,” Steve sputtered, feeling his face turn eighteen different shades of red. “Bucky’s...he and I are...we had...he just needed to have his own space. Sam is just a friend, he’s not...”

Thor’s gaze narrowed as he studied Steve.

“Is this Bucky _your_ lover then? Why is he not living here if that is the case?”

“Oh my god. I’m going to go jump off the roof. I cannot _believe_ that I am having this conversation with _you_ , of all people.”

“Steve, I am over fifteen hundred years old, you know this, yes? On Asgard, it is quite common for members of any gender to be together. Many of the Valkyrie, for example—”

“I got it, I got it! Stop talking, please!”

“I apologize if I have made you uncomfortable, Steve.”

“It’s not that, it’s just that...it’s not something that’s easy for me to talk about. When Bucky and I were younger, before the war...it was not accepted. We had to keep it secret. We...we had a bit of a falling out, I guess you’d say, a few months back. He decided to move out. Sam went with him so he wouldn’t be alone. Bucky and I are...we’re still friends. We’re working on it.”

Thor popped up from behind the bar with a large decanter of the liquor he’d been searching for.

“Friend Steve, I too know the pain of lost loves. Come, let us drink together and forget our sorrows for the evening,” he said, slinging an arm over Steve’s shoulders.

Steve shuddered.

“Oh God, no. Keep that poison away from me. I am never touching that stuff again.”

“I _did_ bring more! I knew it!” Thor cheered. “Then I shall drink for you. And we can sing songs of heartache and lament.”

Steve stared at Thor in disbelief.

“I’d really rather not.”

Thor gave his shoulders a good-natured squeeze and thankfully released him. But this close, he got a good look at Thor’s face.

“Thor, has something happened with Jane? Is that why you are here, with a bag?”

Thor’s jaw set.

“Jane and I, too, have had a ‘falling out’ as you said.”

“Well, I’m not drinking. Bad things happened the last time I drank. And I certainly don’t sing. But I won’t leave you to drink and be sad alone. When’s the last time you were in a proper fight? Hit something?”

“Ah, yes, that sounds wonderful! Though I fear we would damage Tony’s splendid home.”

Steve grinned wide.

“In that case, do you care to take a short ride in a Quinjet with me? I know someplace we could go...”

An hour later, Steve watched as Thor, surrounded and lit by lightning, eyes glowing with it, barreled down on him at high speed from above him. They were testing the effects of striking Mjolnir against the shield, what hitting with different speeds and angles would do, to use as an attack in the future if needed during a fight. His shoulder was practically numb from the hits, but it was great fun, seeing how the shockwaves would travel from the hit. So far they’d managed to successfully duplicate a “straight” line sent in the same direction more than once on purpose.

Steve crouched low, holding the shield above him, as horizontal as possible, and tucked his head at the last moment. The impact was horrifically loud, the gong-like clang reverberating throughout Steve’s body and rattling around his head as his ears rang. He blinked a few times before he realized that he was _supposed_ to be seeing stars, that they were in fact, in the sky above because he was now on his back, spread eagle.

He found himself laughing as Thor came into view, arm outstretched.

When he got to his feet is when he realized they’d made an actual crater in the earth, and the trees surrounding them had been reduced to mulch.

“Holy shit that was amazing!”

“Yes, a highly effective strike! How do you feel? Any damages to you?”

Steve shrugged off his shield and grimaced as he rolled his shoulder.

“Eh, nothing that can’t be shrugged off and powered through. I wouldn’t want to open with that, though. Preferably some time later in the battle, if it’s needed.”

“Agreed. I do not wish to damage you early in fight.” There was a light in Thor’s eyes, a flush to his cheeks, that hadn’t been there when he’d arrived earlier that evening, and Steve was glad to have helped Thor feel better. He knew, of course, that it would only be temporary, that the emotions would return, but hopefully now Thor knew that he wasn’t alone, and he had friends here, if he chose to remain and not return to Asgard.

“Now, where did my hammer end up?” Thor asked, looking around, but clearly not summoning the weapon to him. Steve assumed it was because he wanted to know what would have happened, had this been a real fight.

“Well, considering the angle you came in at,” Steve scrunched up his face in consideration. “I’d say, probably over that way in the trees somewhere.” He held his left arm out, pointing off toward the lip of the crater, thinking about the hammer and what it might have done on its trajectory.

He wasn’t completely surprised to hear the signature sound of the hammer’s flight through the air as it sped toward them.

He was fully unprepared, however, when the leather wrapping of the handle smacked firmly into _his_ outstretched palm and not Thor’s.

They stared at Steve’s hand, and then looked at each other wide-eyed, and then back at Steve’s hand. It would have been comical if it wasn’t so terrifying to Steve.

“Oh my god! Take it! I don’t want it!” He shoved Mjolnir into Thor’s chest.

“How did you do that?” Thor yelled, anger replacing the wonder in his eyes.

“I don’t know!” Steve yelled back, pushing it harder against Thor’s body.

“ _What did you do?”_ Thor was nearly screaming. Steve stepped back and dropped the hammer, mindful of avoiding Thor’s feet. He quickly bent and snatched it up, shaking it in Steve’s face.

“I don’t know! I didn’t mean to, whatever I did! I’m sorry!”

Thor turned and stalked away, and Steve gasped for breath, feeling as though his body was on fire from holding the hammer and the power coursing through it. Without warning, Thor spun and threw Mjolnir directly at Steve. Reflexively, Steve’s arm went up to protect his face, and he caught it once more, body whipping around from the momentum.

“I said I don’t want it!” he cried, flinging it back. “I don’t deserve it,” he sobbed, falling to his knees. “I shouldn’t be able to hold it.”

Thor was suddenly at his side, one hand on Steve’s shoulder.

“Steve, the hammer does not lie. I have often wondered if you were worthy to wield the mighty Mjolnir. We need never speak of this night again. Nobody else needs to know.”

Steve laughed bitterly. “I’m sure no one would believe me right now anyway. Yeah, let’s just keep this between us.”

They made their way back to the Quinjet, quiet and somber, all joviality gone. Thor’s words rang through Steve’s head. _The hammer does not lie_. Maybe there was some hope for him after all.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey all, sorry for the slight delay again. this chapter fought me (mostly because I was fighting what the Asset wanted to do...and I really should know better by now...) and my brain also decided I needed to write that con/non-con piece instead while I argued with the Asset about how he was going to do this.
> 
> ** "Proklyatyye ublyudki" : "damned bastards" (according to google translate ;) )

Bucky was in the kitchen making lunch when it happened. He'd come home from his therapy appointment and turned on the tv for background noise, flipping to some stupid daytime game show on a network channel—he couldn't fathom why someone would need two hundred channels and rarely even turned it on except to drown out the whispers in his brain when he wanted to zone out to something inane.

He and Greg had talked about the fact that Bucky and Steve had gone on an actual official _date_ a few days ago. They’d gone to the Museum of Modern Art first, wandering the exhibits as Steve alternately became fascinated with a style or dismissed it completely at a glance, and Bucky had loved seeing the light in Steve’s eyes, a pure, undiluted joy that he hadn’t seen since before the day he’d told Steve he was going to war. Afterwards, it had been dinner at a fancy steakhouse, with quiet conversation that had even skirted the issue of their relationship and the potentiality of its resumption.

He’d kept the part about them necking like teenagers in the front seat of Steve’s car to himself, though. Some things Greg _didn’t_ need to hear.

Abruptly, the broadcast was cut off, to be preempted by the local news station with a breaking report. _"We have eye witness footage from several bystanders of the bedlam on the Brooklyn Bridge just a short time ago-"_ and _that_ got his attention in a hurry.

"That's _my_ bridge," he growled and spun from the stove, flipping the burner off almost as an afterthought. And sure enough, there was shaky cellphone video of the bridge, cars stopped at haphazard angles, piled up together, with the ridiculous headline "BEDLAM ON THE BRIDGE" across the top of the screen, with smaller print scrolling across the bottom.

In the midst of the cars, bottlenecking the Brooklyn entrance, several men surrounded one man, beating him and dragging him toward their two black SUVs with heavily tinted windows.

"What the fuck?" Bucky watched as the man broke free of his would-be captors, and bells went off in the back of his head as he stared, jaw on the floor. The video switched to a different angle, this one closer, and replayed the fight. His heart rate spiked, cold sweat drenching him as he got a good look at the attackers.

" _P_ _roklyatyye ublyudki!_ Who are you vermin...no! Steve!" Bucky screamed as the close-up footage showed a shock of dirty blond hair, the close-cropped beard, the unmistakable shoulders as Steve fought with all his might to free himself—where the fuck was his shield? One of the men— _HYDRA HYDRA HYDRA they’re all HYDRA agents_! his brain screamed—pulled a gun from the truck and Bucky recognized it even from the distance in the video, it was the tranq gun, and he pulled the trigger several times before the footage cut off, showing the news anchor once more.

_"It is now confirmed that the man who was taken is none other than Steve Rogers, Captain America himself-"_  
Bucky grabbed the frying pan and flung it across the room, sending it and his grilled cheese crashing into the large flat screen hanging on the wall, a cry of agony ripping from his throat as everything fell to the floor.

* _HELP HIM! You have to help him!*_ Bucky practically screamed in his mind. _*We can’t lose him, please, you have to save him.*_

_I don’t know how this stupid motherfucker got caught but yeah, I’m on it._

The Asset grabbed Bucky’s phone and dialed Natasha even as he was running out the door.

"We don't know yet," she answered by way of greeting.

"I do," he growled, the unmistakable edge to his voice making it clear who was in charge at the moment. "I'm coming for my gear. And then I'm going to get him."

Fifteen minutes later, he was strapping his armor and weapons on, a walking arsenal of fury and cold rage. Pistols were strapped to the outside of each thigh, extra clips filling his belt. There was a gun tucked between his shoulder blades. Knives on each boot, calf, and the insides of his thighs, not to mention his wrists and the multitude of pockets on his tac vest. 

"Wait one block east of this address," he said, sending Natasha a message with a location in Brooklyn Heights as he stalked into the garage. “Be ready for cleanup. There should be at least a dozen, if it’s the same cell as I remember. You run the comms.” The Asset tucked an earpiece in and fixed Natasha with a level glare as he did. “I’m trusting you on this, Natalia. You know what I am capable of handling. No storming the castle until I have Steve. There...there used to be a chair at that location. I don’t know what their intentions are with him, but...I can’t chance that.”

“Understood,” she said with a single nod.

“Where are the keys for this?” he demanded, stopping in front of a motorcycle that was clearly meant for Steve.

A red and gold hand appeared at his side, palm up, holding a set of keys.

* _Shit shit shit be nice be nice!*_

_Oh shut up_ , the Asset growled back, sounding irritated.

The Asset stared into the open faceplate of Tony’s suit and held his eyes, unflinching.

“Christ, you’re terrifying like this,” Tony said. He swallowed hard before speaking again, and his voice was steadier this time. “We’ll be ready. If you need us. You know, they’ll see you coming, like this. Not very stealthy.” He swept an arm in the direction of the motorcycle and then up and down the Asset’s body. “Not to mention all the attention you’ll draw, dressed like that.”

The Asset simply narrowed his eyes as he continued to stare at Tony and held his hand out for the keys.

“Right. Didn’t think you cared. Just checking. Anywho...where’s this place? They’ve already had him off that bridge for a good hour minimum before you even got here. You can still have the bike, but we could kind of give you a lift, so to speak. Beat the midday gridlock.”

The Asset tipped his head, brows drawn together in a silent question.

“You ever jumped a motorcycle out of an airplane before?”

The Asset grinned wide.

“Brooklyn Heights. It’s a clusterfuck of one-way streets. You can drop me at Bridge Park, Pier 3. That’s close enough.”

“Clint’s already got the Quinjet ready. Just waiting on you.”

Tony pushed the motorcycle to an elevator hidden away in one corner and in the blink of an eye they were at the hangar and on the jet.

As he sat on the bike, waiting for his signal to start it up, the Asset pulled out his med kit and checked it—he had three injections of the crazy serum-adrenaline-steriod-and god knew what else concoction Hydra had made for him to take before each mission, two of the heavy-duty antibiotic cocktail, the small staple gun for deep wounds, and a roll of gauze.

He stuck the end of one of his “psycho time shots,” as Rumlow had called them, in his mouth and pulled the cap off with his teeth before plunging the needle into the side of his neck. By the time he hit the Hydra safe house, they’d be in full effect. And then those fuckers would get what was coming to them for even _daring_ to touch his Steve.

"I'm coming-” Sam was cut off by Natasha’s hand on his shoulder and a silent shake of her head.

"He is Steve's best chance. This is exactly what he was trained for. They made him an artist of death. And now he's about to paint his masterpiece."

The Asset held her eyes as he slipped his goggles on, and gave her a nod of acknowledgment.

Sam cleared his throat and stepped forward.

“Here, take this, then,” he said, holding out Steve’s shield. “He fights better with it.”

The Asset swallowed as he nestled the shield between the handlebars and into the clips placed there specifically for that purpose. He noted the additions to the underside of the metal from the last time Bucky had wielded Steve’s shield. When the Asset had grabbed it during the fight against Steve on the streets he really hadn’t been paying attention, hadn’t had a frame of reference for knowing what it used to look like versus how it was now. He was relying on Bucky to tell him how to use it, and currently, he was trying to puzzle out how he was supposed to carry it while trying to stealthily infiltrate the safehouse when Tony stepped forward to help.

“When you put it on your back, hit this here,” he said, pointing to a small raised spot. “It’ll make a harness come out and automatically wrap around your chest and shoulders. Hit the same button to retract it when you’re ready to take it off. Alternatively, you can leave the harness in place and just pull the shield off the magnetic base if you’ll want to continue using or carrying it. And then put it back on to hit the button and remove the harness.”

He nodded. “Understood.”

“Alright, we’re ready to drop down on the pier if you are.”

The Asset fired up the engine in response, and he watched the ground draw closer as the ramp of the jet opened.

“Bring your boy home, Soldier,” Tony said, and the Asset sucked in a breath, remembering those same words coming from this same man, what felt like another lifetime ago, as he sat in this same jet the day Steve had rescued him from Hydra. _‘Bring your boy home, Cap,’_ he’d said, and yeah, Steve was his and he was Steve’s, and if nothing else in this world felt right and true, _that_ did, whether he was Bucky or the Asset, because they were the same now, and it was always going to be Steve.

His heart raced as he scanned the slight crowd on the pier— _fucking idiot civilians never know what’s good for them, never run—_ and he knew it was only marginally due to the shot he’d taken, and mostly due to his fear for Steve.

The Asset revved the engine and released the clutch, shooting out of the jet and over the heads of the onlookers to Tony’s laments about the smell of burnt rubber and trying to clean the floor of the jet now. He sped down the street, weaving between cars and using the sidewalk when necessary. Two blocks out, he slowed, and killed the engine completely as he slipped under the blind spot in the surveillance cameras, silently parking in the back alley two houses away.

He strapped the shield on and thumbed his safeties off, and tapped a button on his goggles to activate the infrared sensor, crouching and peering around the corner. One on the roof, watching the street out front. He counted eight moving around inside on various levels, but no clear sign of Steve, either standing or sitting. _Fuck, if they have him in the basement..._ He shook the thought off. One more out back, smoking. He turned the infrared off and watched as the moron paced around, no gun in sight, although he could have one concealed. A glance up showed the one on the roof nowhere visible, so he must still be at the front.

The Asset freed a knife and stood.


	18. Chapter 18

He’s already running as he throws the knife, which lodges in the Hydra goon’s neck. The Asset caught him as he fell, silencing him with a sharp twist before he could alert the others and drags the body off out of sight. He finds the door unlocked and slipped inside, listening, as his eyes quickly adjust.

The Asset sticks his head into the stairwell leading up and waits. No signs of anyone heading this way, so he moves forward to clear the ground floor first, attaching the silencer to his gun as he goes. He slips silently along the hallway, pausing at doorways, clearing rooms as he passes them. In the kitchen he finds three men, two with their backs to him, at the table. All three are dead before the first head hits the wooden surface, surprised looks on their faces and blood running out of bullet holes in their foreheads and chests.

_“We are in place,”_ Natasha whispers over the comm in his ear.

_“Took you long enough,”_ he whispers back before moving on to the next room.

* _I don’t like this. This feels too easy,*_ Bucky chimes in, and the Asset has to agree.

_They’ve gotten sloppy without Pierce and Rumlow,_ he answered.

There are no other men on the first floor so he moves up to the next one, leaving one man slumped on the toilet with a knife sticking out of his chest, and another in a pool of blood from a slit neck. With the second floor clear, he moves up to the third and finds the last two men in the same room.

“Fuck, I can’t wait til they break him. You think he’ll be as good as the Asset was at sucking dick? Christ, I still get hard thinking about that party. Fucking Brock, man. He was fucking twisted. Brock’s birthday, and one hell of a party favor. How many of us unloaded into the Asset that night between his mouth and his ass?”

“Fuck, don’t remind me. Still my go-to in the spank bank.”

The Asset clenches his jaw as he fights the rage rising within him. He recognized the voices, even if he doesn’t know their names. They’d liked to tag-team him, one fucking his ass while the other one stuck his pathetic excuse for a dick in his mouth.

“I happen to know from personal experience that Cap is _quite_ talented at sucking cock. He’s rather fond of mine, I must admit,” he announces, stepping into the room.

The looks on their faces are priceless, cycling between confusion, surprise, fear, and terror.

“Asset? What—what’re you doing here?” the first man sputters.

“Shit, fuck, look at his arm,” the second says, and in that moment, the Asset has a realization. A full-fledged goddamned epiphany. Barnes had made his declaration with the arm design and the star on the shoulder. The Asset had even gotten Stark to give him a few upgrades that they’d kept secret, even from Steve. But hearing this piece of shit call him _Asset_ doesn’t sit well with him. He twirls a knife along the backs of his knuckles as he stares down the two morons who still haven’t even made a move for any weapons in their shock.

_Barnes. You trust me? You with me?_

_*Yeah, pal. I’m with you. And you’re with me. Go ahead. It’s time.*_

“I don’t answer to that any more. My name is Bucky. And I’m here for my boyfriend.”

The handle of the knife dancing across his knuckles flips into his palm and sails across the room, landing in the back of little-dick guy's hand as he finally reaches for his gun.

"Sonofabitch!" he cries, and before he can grab the gun with his other hand there’s a knife sticking out of that one, too.

Bucky turns and punches the other guy in the throat as he tries to call for help and he falls back, gasping for air through his now crushed windpipe. Grabbing the guns from the table they'd been playing cards on, Bucky steps back with a grin.

"Now. Before I kill everyone in the basement, why don't you tell me what you fuckheads thought you were going to do with Steve?"

As it turned out, they didn’t really know much.

But he hadn’t expected them to, honestly.

“You know, I could have made your death quick, like the six—well, seven, I guess,” he amends, glancing at the guy whose windpipe he’d crushed, “I killed before you. But then I heard you two talking. How’s that little dick of yours doing, anyway? I have to say, I’m kind of glad you always had me suck you off. Because I’m not sure, brainwashed or not, if I’d have been able to keep from laughing if you’d tried to fuck me with that pitiful thing.”

Little-dick tries to say something around the gag Bucky has stuffed in his mouth.

“What’s that? Oh, I’m sorry. I should have made your gag smaller. Like your dick. I never had trouble talking around _that_ , now did I?” Bucky stands with a mock sigh. “Listen, I’d love to stay and chat, but I’ve got more people to kill and a boyfriend to reconcile with. So I’m going to go now.”

He raises his gun and points it square between little-dick’s eyes, which have gone wide, muffled pleas coming from his mouth before Bucky silences him with a shot.

Bucky looks down at the blood on his knuckles and the front of his vest and sighs for real.

_Steve’s gonna freak when he sees us like this, isn’t he?_

_*Yeah, probably. Serves him right though, for all the times I found him broken and bloody. At least this isn’t our blood, right?*_

_Don’t think that’s gonna make a difference at first._

Bucky laughs softly while he swaps out the clip on his gun as he reaches the bottom landing.

_*Probably not.*_

A door opens below him and he flattens himself against the wall.

“Hey, assholes, he’s starting to wake up, get the fuck down here! It’s almost time!” a voice bellows from the basement.

_Party time, Barnes. You ready for this?_

_*Sweetheart, I was born ready. I literally spent twenty years of my life saving this dumb fuck from himself. This is what I_ do.*

He waits for the sound of the door closing again before he peers down the stairs. He can’t see the door, so he slowly begins to work down the stairs at a crouch. When he reaches the bottom he’s faced with a large open room with two doors on the far wall, and another short staircase to his left which leads outside. The wall to the right holds shelving and laundry machines. Nothing useful or harmful there, just a normal basement at first glance.

Bucky hates that he knows he needs the door on the left, even without looking.

That is the room with the chair in it.

And that is where Steve would be.

The room on the right is smaller and holds most of the equipment that generates and enhances the power used for the chair. Said chair was positioned near the wall between the two rooms, and the techs and monitors are located off to the left of the door, at a safe distance from the chair. Bucky creeps along the wall until he can see Steve through the small window in the door while remaining hidden from the other assholes in the room. He carefully edges over enough to look where he knows the remainder of the Hydra team will be, and _fuck_ , he’s seriously underestimated the number of men that would be in the house. Instead of another four or six men in the basement, there is easily another dozen crammed into the room with the chair, most of them armed with stun batons, the rest with tranq guns trained on Steve. Not that it’ll be a problem, Bucky can take them, it just changes things.

Steve’s eyes are closed, and he’s strapped into the chair. Bucky’s heart races. The chair was currently upright, and the halo wasn’t around his head, but based on the bruising and marks on Steve’s face, they’d already used it at least once on him.

A voice comes from the left side of the room. “Scans still show mostly normal activity. We’ll need to increase the strength again. It’s got to be the serum, his was more potent than the one the Asset received. He’s fighting the wipes even harder than the other one did.”

“If we go too much higher we’ll kill the grid. Or him,” another responds.

“We can’t do it this many times in such a short amount of time. You don’t know what kind of damage you might cause,” a third adds in. “He’s too important to lose.”

Bucky’s eyes dart everywhere, trying to take in everything at once, watching the men at the controls as well as Steve. He sees Steve’s jaw tic slightly and knows he is awake, even if he was feigning it well enough for the moment. Bucky takes a chance and presses his mouth to the crack between the door and the frame.

_“Hey Captain Dumbass, if you can hear me, hold your breath for five seconds,”_ Bucky whispers. He intentionally uses the nickname he’d called Steve in private during the war, every time he’d been reckless or made a stupid mistake that had required Bucky’s intervention yet again...’ _Hey Captain Dumbass, since I saved your life and all today, why don’t you show me how much you love me?’ ‘Fuck you, Buck.’ ‘Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m hoping for, Captain Dumbass...’_

Steve sucked in a breath, his heart rate spiking and sending one of the monitors haywire.

“ _Don’t fucking give me away, dumbass. Jesus Christ, Stevie. Okay. Trust me. Follow my lead here, pal. I brought you something.”_

Bucky slips back, away from the door, and stands with his back against the wall. This will work. It has to. It’s that simple. He takes a deep breath and taps at a panel on his left forearm, opening up a control panel, and selects the feature he needs.

“Everybody clear!” comes a cry from within the room, and Bucky’s head snaps up at the same time that Steve begins screaming.

“Fuck!” Bucky cries and raises his arm, palm out, toward the room on the right. It only takes a few seconds to deploy, but every second that Steve’s screams echo in his ears feels like an eternity.

An electromagnetic pulse comes from Bucky’s arm, disabling every piece of electronic equipment in a three block radius—except, of course, their comms and Bucky’s arm, because Stark thinks of everything—as his right hand pulls the shield from his back. The men in the room with Steve start shouting, yelling about the sudden lack of power. Bucky grabs the handle of the door with his left hand and rips the entire thing from the wall. In the gloom of the one feeble security light, several shocked Hydra goons turn to him with stunned looks on their faces.

“Knock knock, motherfuckers.”

Someone rushes him and he bashes their face in with the shield. The crunch of bone as their skull shatters is disturbingly satisfying. Another one receives similar treatment before Bucky flings the shield like a frisbee toward the chair, where it lodges upright into one of the arms, breaking the restraint, before falling perfectly into Steve’s lap.

“Wake up, dumbass!” Bucky cries as he catches a fist in his metal hand and clamps down, crushing it, before catching its owner by the neck and snapping that.

_“Soldier?”_ he hears Natasha whisper in his ear, sounding unsure.

“Not...yet...” he huffs. “Just...close— _ung—_ quarters.” He groans as a stun baton lands in his ribs. He grabs it, spins it around, shoves it in his attacker’s mouth, rams it down his throat, and turns it on. The screams are terrifying, matching Bucky’s grin.

“I _hate_ those fucking things,” he grumbles. “I’m good, Nat. Hold position for now. Any fucking time now, Steve!” He yells the last in the direction of the chair.

Somebody in the room starts laughing.

“I shot him with at least three more tranqs as soon as the power cut. He ain’t comin’ to help you, Asset.”

“My name is _Bucky!_ ” he yells, fist flying. He’d need his weapons soon, but he could still reach this fucker. When the fighting had started, Bucky had planted himself like a tree in front of the door to ensure none of the Hydra agents in the room escaped behind him, and he was starting to collect bodies at his feet. He grabs some knives, not wanting to chance any one of them shooting at him and accidentally hitting Steve, since apparently he was going to do his best Sleeping Beauty impersonation during all this.

He hears the compressed air sounds of the tranq gun being fired, and several darts attempt to lodge into his arm and chest, but fail to fully pierce the layers of leather and cloth and kevlar. The man with the tranq gun receives three knives for his troubles, one each in his neck, chest, and left eye.

A bullet suddenly whizzes past him, grazing his cheek.

Bucky’s head snaps to the area of the desks, and the handful of techs there.

“Seventy years, and I _still_ broke the programming. Seventy years, and I’m _still_ here fighting you fucking Hydra assholes with him. And you think, what? _You’re_ gonna stop me? Some fucking lab rats with a gun? You think you’re gonna take Steve from me _again?_ Like you tried to erase him from my brain? You think you’ll be able to break him?” Bucky laughs, and he hears the mania in himself, but he doesn’t care.

“You clearly don’t know Steve Rogers. He was too fucking stubborn to die when he was ninety pounds fully clothed and had the flu, you think you’re gonna stop him _now?_ After the serum? After all the training? You ain’t Pierce. You don’t stand a chance.”

He pulls the guns from his thighs and makes short work of the remaining men in the room, with double-taps all around just for good measure.

“Stevie, c’mon sweetheart, it’s time to go.”

Steve is still out in the chair, every restraint still locked in except the one Bucky had broken with the shield.

“Fuck, c’mon, Steve, you gotta wake up. Please.”

Bucky uses his left arm to rip away the remaining restraints and the halo around his head.

“Come on, punk. Wake up.” He slaps Steve’s face none too gently, and receives a half-mumble in response. “Christ, you big lunk, you’re a mess.”

Bucky pulls Steve up into a sitting position and lifts the shield from his lap. He smacks it onto Steve’s back and hits the button to deploy the harness, and then turns himself around.

“Up and at ‘em, soldier!” he groans as he gets Steve onto his back. “Fucking Christ you’re heavy! Okay, let’s get you out of here, dumbass.” Bucky stumbles under two hundred and fifty pounds of dead weight until he can shift Steve around and carry him piggy-back style and climbs over the bodies blocking the doorway.

In his ear, Natasha clears her throat.

“Nope, I’ve got him. This dipshit is my responsibility, always has been.”

_“Okay. We’re on our way. How many?”_

“Uh...fuck hang on.” Bucky lets one of Steve’s legs drop so he can grab a gun as someone comes running down the stairs. “I forgot about the douchebag on the roof. He makes twenty-three,” he says, once the echoes of the gunshots fade.

“ _Twenty-three?!”_ Tony sputters in his ear. “ _You’ve only been in there for seven minutes! And you had four floors to clear!”_

“Seven minutes? Eh, I’m out of practice. I’ve gotten lazy in that house with Sam. You guys took all my guns away, remember?” He’s answered with silence. “Oh come on, that’s funny and you know it! Don’t try and tell me that at least Clint wasn’t laughing.”

“ _Natasha hit me_ ,” Clint said, but Bucky could hear the mirth in his voice.

“See? There’s my man.”

“ _I got you, bro_ ,” Clint laughs.

Steve gave another half-mumble when Bucky resumed his trek up the stairs.

“I can’t believe you fucking got tranq’d and I’m stuck lugging your ass up these fucking stairs. You ain’t no goddamned ninety pounds anymore, jerk. Used’ta carry you up when you couldn’t breathe in the winter, but shit you was light back then. Now you’re a fucking tank. Like the damn Christmas tree you wanted that last year, before I shipped out. Don’t think I forgot about that. Damned thing took up half the fuckin’ apartment an’ we was sweeping up needles for _months_. Or that desk you got for drawin’, I carried that thing halfway across the fucking _city_ an’ damn near gave myself a hernia gettin’ up three flights of stairs.”

He stops in the kitchen to catch his breath.

“You motherfuckers better let me back in the goddamned tower after this. I need to fucking train. I can’t be this out of shape. Not if this fuckin’ mook is gonna go an’ get himself caught by Hydra with his fuckin’ pants down. _This is why you always need a weapon on you, Steven! We have rules for a reason!”_

Clint is howling with laughter as they come in the back door.

“I’ll take him back. He’ll be awake soon anyway. You guys take care of the mess and grab whatever information you can,” Bucky tells them.

Natasha’s eyes linger on Steve’s face, sharp and calculating, and Bucky knows she’s looking at the marks from the chair.

“I’ve got him, Natasha. It’ll be okay.”

She narrows her eyes and looks over to the table and the three men there.

“Most of ‘em are in the basement. Dunno if you’ll be able to get anything off the equipment cuz of the EMP, but I tried not to shoot any of the computers.”

Bucky hefts Steve once more and heads for the door.

“Okay, Captain Dumbass. Let’s go.”

Steve mumbles something that sounds like _Bucky_ and he takes that as a good sign as he makes his way to the motorcycle. Bucky zipties Steve’s hands together around his chest—one arm coming down over Bucky’s shoulder, the other around his waist, so that Steve won’t list and make them fall—and starts the engine.

By the time Bucky reaches the house—because it’s closer than the tower and he doesn’t know what Steve’s mental state will be, so better to find out where there’s less damage to be done—Steve is more awake and holding Bucky tightly.

“You don’ get ‘ta complain ‘bout my drivin’ ever again,” Steve slurs, and Bucky laughs. He’d broken just about every traffic law in his hurry to get Steve to the house, weaving between cars and running lights and even hopping a few curbs, not to mention completely ignoring speed limits.

He cut the ties from Steve’s wrists and helped him from the bike.

“Wha’ happened?” Steve asks as he slings an arm over Bucky’s shoulders and leans into him.

“Let’s get you inside first, buddy. Don’t think we should be talking about it out here.”

“Where...oh.”

“This was closer. Once I’m sure you’re okay we’ll get you to the tower.”

They shuffle up the steps and Bucky presses his thumb to the scanner to unlock the door.

“Jarvis?” Bucky calls as they enter.

“I am here, Sargent,” the AI responds from the ceiling a moment later, and Steve gasps.

“I thought this place—”

Bucky gave Steve an incredulous look. “Of course not. He’s just not present all the time like at the tower. Jarvis, lock down the house. Record and report at your discretion.”

“Understood, Sargent.”

“Lock...?”

Steve’s question goes unfinished as he watches the security features engage, barring the windows and doors.

“Natasha, I’m going silent. Jarvis is on.”

“ _Understood_.”

“Bucky, what the hell is going on?” Steve demands.

“That remains to be seen, Steve.”

He drags Steve to the kitchen and shoves him into a chair, tossing the shield out of reach with a noisy clang. Steve protests and Bucky growls, grabbing Steve roughly by the chin and making hard eye contact.

“What’s the last thing you remember?”


	19. Chapter 19

“What the _fuck_ , Bucky?” Steve asks, more awake now, and tries to bat Bucky’s hand away.

Bucky pulls out the tranq gun he’d filched from the Hydra house and presses it to Steve’s neck, against his jugular.

“Steve, I love you. But I will not hesitate to tranq you and hog tie you with the magnacuffs if you don’t answer the fucking question and convince me you’re not compromised.”

“Asset,” Steve growls, and tries to stand.

Bucky shoves him back down.

“Nope. Just me in here now, sweetheart. We’re one and the same. Answer the question.”

Steve glares up at him, the same fiery look in his eyes that he’d get when he’d see a guy harassing a girl at the dance hall, or a bully picking on a kid at the playground. It’s the look that says he’s not going to back down from a fight he shouldn’t even be in in the first place.

“Please, Steve,” Bucky begs, the slightest quiver in his voice. “Please don’t make me do this.” Bucky is fighting tears. He should be better at keeping his emotions in check, he’s the fucking Winter Soldier for fuck’s sake, but it’s been an extremely emotional day, and the fear of Steve being compromised by Hydra and the chair is too much for him to take.

Steve, apparently, finally realizes that Bucky is barely keeping it together. The hard edge to his eyes softens, and he begins to speak.

“You had therapy this morning. Assuming it’s still Monday. And after our date the other night, I knew if I saw you, it’d be difficult to not want to talk, and...and maybe try for more, because I haven’t been able to stop thinking about kissing you in the car afterwards. And I know that sometimes after my therapy sessions, I’m mentally exhausted, so it wouldn’t have been fair to you...anyway, I wanted to make sure I wasn’t in the tower when you got done. So I went for a walk and ended up in Brooklyn, just checking out the old neighborhood, and I stopped on the bridge, thinking about the night you and I climbed up, and about us, and everything that’s happened. I didn’t see them coming until the people around me started screaming, and then I was being hit with the stun batons—like a fucking _lot_ of them, what is with their obsession with them, anyway?—and I tried to fight them off, but they had the drop on me, you know? Then they hit me with the tranquilizers and the next thing I knew, I was in that room in that chair. And holy fuck, that is terrifying, and it hurts, and I can’t imagine how you endured it for so long.”

Tears are running freely down Bucky’s cheeks and he sucks in a breath.

“Tell me something only you and I would know,” he chokes out. “Since you brought me to the tower.”

“You woke up in my shower with a dildo in your ass and a cage on your cock because I was fucking the Asset and except for our date we haven’t touched each other since but we did have phone sex a couple times since we met for coffee a while back.”

A strangled cry escapes Bucky as he tosses the tranq gun aside and slams his mouth against Steve’s.

“Steve!” he gasps.

Steve clings to him, head buried in the unforgiving leather of his vest.

“I thought I was imagining things when I heard you. And then when you were carrying me out. I thought I was hallucinating, that there was no way it was real.”

“They tranq’d you again when I knocked out the power.”

“You really believe that I’m okay? Just like that?”

Bucky soothes Steve’s hair.

“The short-term memory, the newest memories, are the first ones to go. But if you’re remembering this morning, down to how you felt and all that, then, yeah, I’m not too worried. Still gonna watch you like a hawk for a while, and you know they’ll be running a million scans and tests and shit, too.”

“I remember thinking, on the bridge, that you’d be so mad at me...”

“You got that right, Captain Dumbass.”

Steve’s laugh is cut short, turns into a groan, and Bucky remembers that he still needs to check Steve’s injuries. He presses a kiss to the top of Steve’s head and pulls back.

“Come with me, okay? Gonna get the first aid kit. And we both need showers.”

“Okay, Buck.”

Steve follows Bucky up the stairs dutifully, without complaint, and sits automatically on the edge of the bed. Bucky strips off his vest and t-shirt and leaves them on the bathroom floor—no need to get blood on the hardwood when tile is so much easier to clean—while he retrieves the kit. It’s one of those things that serves a radically short need for him because he heals so quickly, and Steve even faster, but old habits die hard and he gets it anyway.

Patching Steve up is what he does, after all.

Steve gasps when Bucky returns, and Bucky follows Steve’s gaze to the bruises forming on his side.

“I was slow,” Bucky shrugs. “Haven’t really been training or working out, just sitting around on my ass mostly. I’m more worried about you. Let me see. Shirt off, Rogers.”

“Thought we were going to the medbay?” he asks quietly as Bucky steps in between his knees and tips his head up.

“I said we’d go once I was satisfied.”

Steve lets out a contemplative hum and drapes his arms loosely around Bucky’s hips.

“Okay, Buck.” There’s the slightest hint of a smirk on his lips and a mischievous glint in his eyes as he tips his head back for Bucky to inspect and treat the marks on his face.

“Don’t think I ever told you that I’m glad your nose didn’t straighten out after the serum,” Bucky says softly as he cleans the dried blood away with an antiseptic wipe.

“No, you didn’t,” Steve answers as quietly.

“I liked that there was a visible reminder of the old you on this new body.”

“You sure it has nothing to do with the fact that _you’re_ the one who broke it?”

“Well, you were supposed to stay down, not get up and run into my elbow as I punched Seamus Finnigan for callin’ you a queer.”

“Bucky, I was _absolutely_ queer by that point. You should know.”

Steve’s hands are toying with the top of his tac pants, warm fingers slipping beneath the edge and brushing the top of his ass.

“That wasn’t the point. An’ quit trying to distract me, I ain’t done yet.”

“I’m doing no such thing.”

“Liar.”

Steve’s smile makes Bucky’s heart flip in his chest.

“Just like old times, huh Buck?”

The darkening in his eyes isn’t lost on Bucky.

“Dunno, punk. You want this to end like old times?”

Bucky trails his thumb along Steve’s bottom lip with a bit of vaseline to ease over the split in it.

“You sayin’ you don’t?”

“Don’t want to hurt you more.” Bucky’s voice is rough to his own ears.

“Nothing’s broken,” Steve offers helpfully.

Bucky closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths, as if that will stop the lust burning within him.

“Bucky,” Steve says quietly. “Please.”

It’s the ‘please’ that gets Bucky, more than anything. It’s in the way it falls from Steve’s lips, whispered, almost reverent, begging but not, a request, an offer, a need, all in one.

Bucky unconsciously rolls his hips closer to Steve and it’s the opening that Steve was apparently waiting for, because his hands make quick work of Bucky’s zipper and the next thing he knows his cock is surrounded by the welcoming heat of Steve’s mouth.

“Steve!” he gasps, one hand tightening in the hair at the back of Steve’s head. He’s relentless in his determination, and it’s been so long, that Bucky’s cock goes from interested to fully hard in the blink of an eye, and he’s rocking his hips, fucking into Steve’s mouth like they’re about to get caught and need to finish this quickly.

Steve’s moans are almost as loud as Bucky’s when Bucky comes, cock shoved down Steve’s throat, choking him on his come as Steve struggles to breathe with his nose buried in the thatch of hair at Bucky’s base.

“Need you,” Steve rasps, voice raw, as he sucks in a breath.

“Ass in the air,” Bucky growls, and Steve scrambles to get his pants off and get on all fours in the middle of the bed. “Back here,” he demands, hands firm on Steve’s hips as he drags him back to the edge of the bed. Bucky barely takes the time to slather Steve’s hole with the vaseline and shove two fingers roughly in before he drives his cock inside.

“Buck!” Steve cries, bracing his arms on the bed and dropping his shoulders as he presses back against Bucky.

Bucky doesn’t take his time, but sets a frantic pace, as though he can’t fill Steve enough, can’t claim those places inside him fast enough.

“Fuck, yes, yes,” Steve encourages, his voice breathy and high-pitched and Bucky knows Steve is close, but this isn’t for Steve, it never was, and never will be—because this is Steve, after all, and Bucky knows they’ll end up here again. This is always for Bucky, reassuring himself that Steve is _there_ , he’s _alive_ and _he’s okay_ , and he’s come back to Bucky, Bucky didn’t lose him, Steve didn’t get himself killed this time...

Bucky comes with a harsh exhale, Steve’s name stuttering from his lips, and then he collapses onto Steve’s back, driving them into the bed with their combined weight. Bucky rolls them onto their sides and holds Steve tight, shaking as his body is wracked with sobs.

“I was so fucking scared,” he gets out between hiccuping breaths. “When I saw you in that thing, and they turned it on, I almost died.”

Steve turns and wraps his arms around Bucky, holding them together, and Bucky’s head tucks into Steve’s neck.

“I can’t lose you, Steve. I can’t. Not again,” he says over the soft sounds of Steve trying to soothe him.

“I’m here, Bucky. I’m here. Gonna take more than that to get rid of me, you know I’m too stubborn to leave your side.”

Bucky’s response is to pull Steve even closer, as if he could burrow inside him and never be parted.

“They took you away from me once. I refuse to let that happen ever again. I will kill every last one of them first.”

“Thank you for saving me,” Steve murmurs into Bucky’s hair. “Sorry I wasn’t much help for it. Those tranquilizers are fucking _strong_.”

Their moment of raw emotion is interrupted by the soft sound of Jarvis clearing his throat.

“I _do_ apologize, sirs. But Agent Romanoff is threatening violence against myself and Mr. Stark if she does not receive an update on Captain Rogers’ condition and your status, Sargent Barnes.”

“Connect us, J.”

“You are live, sir.”

“Nat,” Bucky says. “Nice to know that you _do_ care about me after all.”

“Save it, Barnes. Your charms are wasted on me. Report.”

Steve snorts. “I’m fine, Natasha.”

“Barnes?”

“Everything is good, Natalia. Honest. Tell Sam he’s sleeping at the tower tonight though.”

“Rogers needs to be checked by the medical staff.”

“Yup. I’ll bring him by tomorrow.”

“ _James_ ,” she says, and Bucky can just see the narrowing of her eyes as she glares at his reply.

“Jarvis, cut transmission please?” he says, laughing.

“She’s going to kill us when we get there, you know that, right?” Steve asks.

“She can try.” Bucky shrugs as best he can with their arms locked around each other.

“Bucky?” Steve starts hesitantly.

“Mmm?”

“I’m sorry you had to do that again.”

Bucky pauses the kisses he’d been trailing along Steve’s shoulder.

“I’d do anything for you, Steve. Even if it means being him again for a little while. It’s who I am now. You have to accept that, because I have. Being a highly-trained ruthless killing machine is not necessarily a bad things sometimes.”

“When all those skills aren’t being directed at trying to kill me, it’s pretty hot, honestly.”

Bucky lets out a chuckle.

“You always did like it when I bossed you around. You like the idea of me still being able to put you in your place once in a while, huh?”

Steve swallows and goes quiet.

“Stevie?” Bucky pulls his head back enough to be able to see Steve’s face. “Hey, talk to me,” he says, using his thumb to pull Steve’s bottom lip free of his teeth.

“I...the first time he came to me, I was determined to be nice, not rough, not like what they’d done to you.”

“Hey, it’s okay, I already know—”

“I need to say this anyway, okay? I know we already talked about it, but just let me.” Steve cuts in. Bucky presses his lips together and and nods, waiting for Steve to continue. “I remembered how, during the war, I’d hurt you because I was still learning a few things about my new body. But then, I realized that you could take it now, after everything that had been done to you to make you stronger. And I...I couldn’t help myself.”

Bucky can sense that there’s more, and he patiently remains silent, fingers trailing softly up and down Steve’s arm in comfort.

“You remember the couple times we tried— _I_ tried—to get rough with you before the war, and I ended up having a breathing fit, I know you do. When it hit me that I didn’t have to hold back, and he—you—seemed to like it, I got carried away. I like—fuck, I _love—_ the idea of some of those things we’ve watched and discussed. Not just me doing it to you, but you doing it to me. And not out of some sort of self-punishment. But because that’ll mean the same thing it does to you: that I was finally able to give you the release you’ve wanted, finally able to take it the way we wanted to be able to do it.”

“That does explain some of the toys you have,” Bucky says, smiling so that Steve knows he’s teasing and not judging.

“Natasha tried her best, and, well, she’s good at her job, they trained her for honeypot missions after all, in addition to everything else, but just now? You fucking me so hard like that? Christ, I saw stars when I came, because it was _perfect_.”

“So if we’re both switches, what happens on the days we both wanna bottom?”

“You’re an asshole.” Steve shoves at Bucky’s shoulder, but he’s laughing. “On the same line, what about when we both wanna top?”

“Oh sweetheart, the knock-down-drag-out-fights we’ll have on those days until one of us wins? Fuck, I could come just thinking about it.”

“Oh god,” Steve moans, and Bucky grins.

“Come on, babydoll. Time for a shower.”


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone is here for some make-up sex...because that's all you're going to get in this chapter ;)

Steve savors every touch of Bucky’s hands, every press of his lips, every sting of each bite, and every thrust of his cock as he fucks Steve against the wall of the shower.

He’d spent so long thinking he’d never have this again that it’s all he can do to hold back the tears, lest Bucky gets the wrong idea.

And the fact that Bucky is _holding Steve up_ and making it look effortless, even after all the fighting he’d done that day, is so goddamned hot that Steve has to concentrate equally hard on not coming too soon.

“I’m gonna fuck you so much tonight that it’s going to take days for all my come to leak out of you,” Bucky says on a particularly hard thrust.

“Jesus Christ, Buck!” Steve gasps, and his control snaps, and he comes, thick streams of white coating their chests.

“Like that idea, babydoll? You want to remember this night for days, every time you have to change your drawers? Hmm?” Bucky licks the come from Steve’s chest as he speaks. Steve has no idea where the filthy talk has come from, they’d never been this raunchy before, but fuck he loves it.

“Fuck, you—the things you’re sayin’... _god you feel so good_...” His brain fails to supply any more words, and he can only moan and whimper, sounding like every cheap porno he’d ever watched, as Bucky comes and just keeps going. Steve’s head rolls from side to side over the tile, and he is distantly aware that he’s saying Bucky’s name over and over, endlessly, as his brain shuts down from the bliss and the high of the endorphin rush.

“One more, babydoll, come on, come with me. You can do it. Look how hard that cock is. Go ahead. Touch it. Let me see you make yourself come while I fill your greedy ass.”

“Buc _kyyyyyy_ ,” Steve keens.

“You’re so good to me babydoll, I know you can do this for me. One more, and then we’ll go to bed. Fuck I need you so much, Steve. Gonna keep fucking you til I pass out. Til I convince my brain that you’re here and you’re safe and you’re still mine, that they didn’t take you from me, didn’t break you.”

Steve whines and tightens his grip on Bucky—one hand on his flesh shoulder, the other tangled in his hair—and slams his mouth against Bucky’s. The angle is awkward, but Bucky returns the kiss just as desperate and needy, his hands tightening on Steve’s ass hard enough to bruise. The display of strength and need is enough to send Steve over the edge, and he pulls even harder on Bucky’s hair, biting at that full bottom lip.

“Never leaving you,” Steve pants into Bucky’s mouth and Bucky comes, dropping his forehead to Steve’s chest as he stills and lets out a shaky breath. Steve presses kisses to the top of Bucky’s head, uncaring of his wet hair. “Let’s get cleaned up and go to bed, babe,” he says softly, and Bucky shakes his head.

“Don’t want to let go,” he mumbles.

Steve smiles and rubs a hand soothingly down Bucky’s back. “I promise I’m not going to disappear. Come on. We’re getting water-logged and I’d rather not have that particular flashback tonight.”

“Oh shit, I’m sorry Stevie.”

They disentangle themselves and Bucky carefully washes Steve’s body and Steve doesn’t fight him, understanding all too well how Bucky feels, his fear that this is a horrible dream, that Steve isn’t here. Steve returns the favor, washing away the remaining blood crusted over Bucky’s now-healed wounds. The steamy air is charged, the tension between them palpable as they dry each other with lingering touches.

Bucky falls to his knees to dry Steve’s legs and Steve clenches his jaw, trying to will his erection down.

“Been a long time since we had the opportunity to be so sweet on each other,” Bucky says, breath ghosting over Steve’s cock as he looks up at him with those beautiful blue eyes, eyes that have haunted Steve’s dreams since waking from the ice. Before he can say anything, he’s being pushed, stumbling backwards to catch himself against the counter. Bucky follows him with a grin and begins to downright worship Steve’s cock, alternating between licks and kisses along the length before swallowing him down, taking him deeper than he’s ever gone since after the serum increased even this part of him too.

During the war, Bucky had been frustrated at not being able to deep-throat Steve any longer. That was apparently not an issue now, and Steve tries not to think about why, but just enjoy the new skill that Bucky wants to share with him.

“Buck!” he gasps when Bucky swallows, lips sealed around the base of his cock. For all the times Natasha had done this for him, it was never with the care, the devotion, that Bucky was now showing him. It’s a feeling, an experience, that he hasn’t had since the last time Bucky’s mouth had been around him, during the war. Bucky pulls back, swirling his tongue around the tip and inside the foreskin, and Steve’s knees nearly give out at the long-forgotten sensation, a deep moan escaping him as his head falls back.

“Christ, Bucky, _fuck_ , you were always so good— _ungh, yes, God, fuck I love you so much—”_ he came with a hoarse cry, cock shoved down Bucky’s throat. A loud snapping noise registers in his ears a split second before he loses his balance and falls, his hands no longer supporting him. Bucky is laughing hysterically while he catches Steve as he lands gracelessly on his ass, and stops him from smashing his head against what remains of the counter.

“Remember when you broke your cot the first time we fucked during the war? And when you tried to fix it you made it worse?”

“Your point?”

“Don’t try to fix my bathroom. We have money now. I’ll call someone.”

Steve laughs even as he blushes. He’d been hesitant at first to resume a physical relationship with Bucky during the war. But as their team became more and more successful, and therefore more and more indispensable, Bucky grew more and more insistent as he became less and less satisfied with stolen kisses and furtive handjobs. _“Who is going to court martial Captain America? Please, Steve. I need to feel like you need me around as more than a gun at your back now. I need to know that you still want me as much as I want you.”_ The ripped clothing had been much easier to explain away than the broken bed. The look Peggy had given him when he’d stammered through an explanation of ‘ _I tripped, lost my balance, still getting used to the new body sometimes...’_ had told him that she didn’t believe him, but she’d gone along with it regardless.

“You’re such a jerk,” he says now.

Bucky rises from the floor and holds out a hand, still laughing. Steve follows him to bed and finds that he actually feels nervous. He doesn’t have any clothes, besides the filthy ones he’d come here in. He could probably squeeze into a pair of Bucky’s shorts, but that wouldn’t be comfortable for sleeping in. He doesn’t know what Bucky expects from him tonight. He watches Bucky slide into bed naked, feeling as insecure as he did when they were teens and first started fooling around together.

“Stevie? Everything okay?”

“I...yeah. Just stuck inside my head for a minute there.”

“Wanna talk about it?” Bucky rolls to his side and props himself up on one elbow. With his hair still damp and combed back, and his left arm lost in the pillow he’s propped up on, it’s easy to forget that the past seventy years have happened. There’s a light in his eyes and a glow in his skin that had been painfully absent when they’d had their first fight on the street all those months ago, before Steve had brought him home.

“I guess I was just wondering where we stood now. Wasn’t sure what you’d want from me.”

_“Steve,”_ Bucky says in his ‘you’re such an adorable idiot’ tone _._ “I’ve had my dick _inside_ you more than _outside_ for the last hour and change, and you’re not sure where we stand?”

“I know we were working towards this and all, but...I guess I want to be sure that you’re ready for us to resume. That you want it.” Steve slides into the bed and Bucky is on him almost immediately, pinning him to the mattress.

“Listen, punk. Even through everything that happened, I still love you. And if there was one thing made painfully clear to me today, it’s that I don’t want to spend any more time away from you. I don’t want either of us to die with regrets between us, with things left unsaid, with us not being together.”

Steve sniffs, trying to fight the tears that are coming. When Bucky cries, he somehow becomes achingly beautiful. But Steve knows that he himself is an ugly crier, and even though Bucky has seen it plenty of times in the past, he doesn’t want to subject him to that now.

“I was so scared I’d never know your face again once I was in that chair,” he confesses. “I didn’t want to lose you after we’d just barely gotten back together.”

Bucky smiles and kisses him gently.

“I said til the end of the line, didn’t I? Did you really think I wouldn’t come for you?”

“I was expecting the whole team, not just you.”

“Nat helped with that. They were all ready to come in guns blazing and we had to make them understand how terrible of an idea that was. Mostly because she understood that I wouldn’t have hesitated to take _them_ out if they got in the way of me getting to you.” Bucky is trailing soft kisses along his neck and down his chest as he speaks. “It’s my job to put you back together, not theirs. They had their time. I know what you need after something like that, not them.”

“Bucky...”

“Every time you almost died on me, what did I do?”

Steve gives in, gives _up_ , and lets the tears fall as he arches into the caresses. When Bucky had moved out of the tower, he’d thought that was it, he’d messed up beyond even what Bucky would forgive, that he’d fucked away his last chance. He’d lost what little bit of hope he’d been clinging to of having a life with Bucky, here, in the future, in the open, without fear of being arrested, or court martialed, or being shunned. Sure, there were still homophobic people all over the world, but they wouldn’t have to hide their feelings for each other any longer. Hell, they could get _married_ if they wanted. But that dream had vanished with the morning sun and the retreating rear end of a SUV filled with the meager belongings of his best friend.

Yet somehow, now, here they were, in Bucky’s bed, with all that behind them.

“I don’t deserve you,” Steve chokes out, even as Bucky presses two slicked-up fingers inside him.

“You keep saying that. I’m gonna start punching you every time you do until you stop with that nonsense. If you can still want me, forgive me, after all the terrible things I was made to do, and think that I’m still good enough to be loved, and refuse to give up on me, then you better believe the same about yourself, sweetheart.”

Steve clings to Bucky as he slowly slides his cock in, not stopping until he’s buried to the hilt, and Steve trembles as he hooks his legs around the backs of Bucky’s thighs.

“We’ve been having this conversation since the first time I told you I loved you.” Bucky rolls his hips and Steve moans, head dropping back into the pillow. Bucky takes advantage of the position to clamp his teeth down on the sensitive spot just under his ear and suck a mark there, even though they both know it’ll be gone by morning.

“How many times did I step out on you to keep up appearances, only to beg forgiveness that you said I didn’t need because you understood?”

Another slow, gentle roll of Bucky’s hips and Steve’s hand tightens in the back of Bucky’s hair as a sob escapes him.

“Yes, you should have told me about what you did, and you know that and have acknowledged it.” He sucks a matching mark on the other side of Steve’s neck while continuing the languid roll of his hips, fucking into Steve with long, drawn-out thrusts.

“I know that you thought you were protecting me from what Hydra had done to me. But it’s my job to protect you, babydoll. Not the other way around. Always has been. Doesn’t change now that you’re a tank.” Bucky dips his head and sucks at a nipple, drawing a gasp and a surprised jerk of his hips from Steve, which drives Bucky deep.

“Every time you almost died, after I sat by your side through all of it, and you said you didn’t deserve me, that I should find someone who wouldn’t bring me pain and fear because of their health, or every time you told me I should find someone who wouldn’t bring me heartache because of their gender, what did I do?”

Steve can’t answer through his tears, through the sobs escaping him as he holds onto Bucky for dear life. Bucky who is his anchor, his rock, the only person besides his mother who’d fought heaven and hell to keep Steve breathing, who cared if _Steve_ lived or died, not _Captain America_ , who somehow still loves him despite everything he did.

Because the answer was _exactly this_.

The answer was that he’d make love to Steve just as sweetly and gently as he was right now, render Steve a sobbing mess because he’d be overwhelmed by the emotions, by the feelings, by the words that Bucky would say so tenderly as he kissed and caressed him all over.

“Tell me, sweetheart. What did I do?”

“You loved me,” Steve manages, and Bucky kisses his cheeks, wipes away the tears, presses his lips to Steve’s ear.

“I still love you,” he says, rolling his hips for emphasis—not that he’s stopped _emphasizing_ his points during his whole scolding of Steve. “Do you believe me yet?”

Steve whimpers and wraps his arms around Bucky’s shoulders, pressing their bodies tight as they rock together.

“Bucky,” Steve pleads, and he’s not even sure what he’s trying to ask for, but Bucky slips an arm down under Steve, around his lower back, lifting him slightly, and somehow manages to work himself deeper into Steve, and it’s exactly what he needed as he feels the tightness growing at the base of his spine, feels the orgasm building to a peak.

“Steve,” Bucky breathes.

“Yes, god, Bucky, _yes_ ,” he answers, drawing out the word, and his only warning is a low groan in his ear as Bucky comes right on the heels of Steve’s own orgasm.

They spend several minutes floating together in the post-orgasm haze before Steve finds the energy to speak.

“Thank you,” he says, voice rough from crying.

Bucky lifts his head to meet Steve’s eyes, and Steve is surprised to see that they’re red-rimmed because Bucky is crying, too.

“I’ll always take care of you, punk. You stole my heart a long time ago. I’m never going to give up on us. No matter how stupid you get.”

Steve lets out a soft laugh as he tucks Bucky’s hair behind his ears.

“You wanna come back to the tower now?”

“Actually, I was thinking we kick Sam out and you could come live here with me.”

Steve can’t stop the immediate smile that splits his face.

“Yeah?”

“Unless you don’t want to leave the tower. You’ve probably gotten used to having everything at your fingertips...”

Steve silences Bucky with a finger pressed to his lips.

“I think it sounds perfect. We can live anywhere you want, baby. As long as I’m with you that’s all I’ll ever need.”

Bucky rolls his eyes.

“You’re such a sap.”

“But you love me.”

“Yeah,” Bucky sighs, trying his best to sound put out. “Yeah, I do.”

Steve laughs as he pulls Bucky in for a kiss.

“Love you too, jerk.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this story had descended into fluff and I apologize for that, lol. this is a bit longer than most of the chapters, but I don't think you'll complain. ;) In theory, there's two chapters left. I know I've said that before though...

Steve woke in the middle of the night, momentarily confused about where he was, until his eyes land on Bucky sleeping next to him. After all the therapy and all the ground he’d gained so far, Bucky still slept with a light on—though he was down to only one light, and it was muted and warm, not the near-floodlight-like brightness he’d started out with at the tower. Steve shifts onto his side, still amazed that he was here, that this wasn’t a dream. Lord knows that he’d had plenty of dreams about waking up next to Bucky since he defrosted, only to wake and find them to be the worst kind of nightmares.

“You gonna keep starin’ at me or go back ta sleep?” Bucky slurs, his voice muffled by the pillow.

Steve leans forward and presses a kiss to Bucky’s shoulder with a smile.

“Just gotta use the bathroom. Go back to sleep, sweetheart.”

“’kay,” comes the mumbled reply, and the fact that Bucky is already half-asleep, is _relaxed_ enough to sleep so easily, warms Steve, brings him a feeling of pure joy and contentment. It may have taken a few years in this new world he’d woken to, but for the first time, he’s at peace, and he knows that’s in no small part due to Bucky’s presence.

He slides from the bed and goes to relieve himself, studying his reflection in the mirror as he washes his hands. Sadly, the marks Bucky had made on his chest and neck are nearly all faded, but it’s to be expected. The ones on his face from the halo on the chair are still a bit more prominent, as they’d gone deeper and were larger. Steve stumbles slightly as he turns, feeling mildly lightheaded and dizzy, and realizes that he’s not sure when the last time he ate was. He’s about to detour for the kitchen to find Bucky’s supplements when he feels a trickle of wetness just under his nose. Worry starting to rise within him, he swipes at it.

His fingertips come away bright red.

A strangled cry escapes him as he crashes into the door frame. He stares at his hand in confusion, as if the answers will magically appear there.

“You okay dumbass?”

He lifts his head, brows drawn together in concern, seeking out Bucky’s face.

“Buck?” he manages before his legs give out.

“Steve!” Bucky cries.

The last thing he hears before darkness engulfs him is Bucky screaming for Jarvis.

*****

He wakes up slowly.

The first thing he registers is sound: there’s music playing, soft and low, and his first thought is that it should be much louder, because it’s swing music, and it’s not meant to be quiet. That’s what Bucky had told him every time he’d tried to teach Steve to dance—it needs to be loud enough to feel it, to let your body flow with the beat... _Bucky._ Steve listens harder and can hear steady breathing close by. Bucky must be here with him.

Focusing on Bucky leads to touch: he can feel Bucky’s hand around his, and realizes that the weight on his thigh is Bucky’s head, where he’s fallen asleep. Steve flexes his free hand and feels the pull of tape, the press of the needle in the vein on the back of his hand. He can feel and move all his toes, so whatever happened, he’s not incapacitated at least. There are several monitors attached to his chest, and more on his forehead.

Oh. Right. _His head._

He takes a deep breath and squeezes Bucky’s hand. Bucky is awake almost instantly, body shifting, and a cool metal hand presses to his cheek.

“Steve? You awake, sweetheart?”

Steve smiles and leans into the touch.

“Hi,” he says, voice scratchy. His mouth is as dry as the damned Sahara.

“Here, water. Drink, sweetheart.”

A straw presses to his lips and Steve takes several small sips.

“Thank you.” He sounds more like himself now. “Lights off please? Too bright. Hurts.”

“Of course, sweetheart.” Bucky feathers a kiss to Steve’s forehead before he moves away and turns the lights down. “I’m sure someone will be in soon to check on you. They’ll know that you’ve woken up.”

“What happened? How long have I been out?” He blinks his eyes slowly a few times, trying to decide if it’s worth the effort to keep them open right now or not. If he tries to focus on the opposite side of the room, the objects are fuzzy. But then Bucky is back at his side, and of course Steve can’t help but look at him, and he’s trying to hide it, but Steve can see how worried Bucky is.

“They’re saying it was basically a stroke. An aneurysm. Best guess is that the Hydra idiots exacerbated a weakness in some blood vessels that nobody knew was there. Because they zapped you multiple times in a short period, and I heard them say that they kept upping the charge each time ‘cuz your scans were staying normal, they weren’t seeing what they wanted so they could start to break you. You’ve been out like, twelve hours or so? The docs kept talking about surgery but then the swelling finally started to go down and—”

“And that’s _exactly_ why we wanted you here sooner than later,” Natasha interrupted, shooting Bucky a look that Steve knew all too well—the one that said ‘if we weren’t on the same team I’d kick your ass, and I’m still considering it anyway’—as she came into the room.

“I could have pushed to come, Nat. I’m just as much to blame as he is.”

“Well he—” she stops, clamps her mouth shut as if literally biting back the words she’d been about to say.

“Knows what the chair can do?” Bucky suggests, eyebrows high on his forehead. “Yeah, I do. And his memory was fine, all vitals were fine, motor functions fine. He wasn’t showing any signs of any issues, and I know that _I_ sure as fuck was having issues after my first few rides on that particular pony. So sue me if we were a little selfish and wanted some time alone before you guys forced him to sit through endless exams and multiple debriefings. He had the better serum, he had no symptoms, and I took him at his word that he felt okay.”

“Right, because he’s a reliable source for that assessment? How long have you known him? You know, actually, _given_ your history, it’s extremely surprising to me that you _didn’t_ drag him in here for a scan once he was patched up.”

Bucky shot to his feet, hand still clinging tightly to Steve’s even as he stepped into Natasha’s face.

“And how long have _you_ known him? Can _you_ get him to do something he doesn’t want to once he’s made up his mind? Is the secret having a pussy? ‘Cuz I’ll fucking find a way to grow one if that’s what it takes to make him listen.”

“Guys? Can you not do this right now?” While watching someone get up in Natasha’s face is highly entertaining, he tugs at Bucky’s arm, trying to pull him back. “Head still hurts, for starters.”

Bucky deflates instantly at the mention of Steve being in any sort of pain, being hurt in any way, and starts fussing over him once more.

“You want a cool cloth for it? Need me to raise you up more? I’ll get Bruce, or one of the other doctors. They were talking about bringing in some specialist, I can see if that’s still happening? Anything you need, sweetheart.”

“Just stop yelling at each other. Nothing good in trying to lay blame with anyone. It happened. Time to move forward.”

Bucky sits and takes Steve’s hand in both of his, brings it to his mouth and holds it there, lips pressed against the knuckles.

“Okay, sweetheart. I’m sorry,” he says softly. “I can’t help it sometimes, not when it comes to you, you know that. You had me so scared.” The last is practically whispered. Bucky’s eyes are closed, his head is down, and he’s holding Steve’s hand between his, pressed against his forehead as if in prayer.

From the corner of his eye Steve can see Natasha watching the interaction, mouth hanging open in disbelief.

“I’ll be okay, sweetheart.” He smiles at Bucky and squeezes his hand. “I always pull through, right? Because you’re always there to help me.”

The slight sniffling sound is the only warning Steve has before Bucky’s head is pressed against Steve’s stomach and his tears soak the sheet as his body shakes. Steve gently extracts his hand and pets Bucky’s head, running his fingers through the soft waves, soothing him.

Natasha continues to watch with a mixture of fascination and embarrassment, until Clint appears behind her.

“Nat, uh, they need you downstairs. Something to do with the files they found,” he says quietly, hand hovering over her shoulder. She looks at him, studies his face, and leaves with a curt nod.

Steve can’t keep the amused expression from his face as he looks at Clint.

“What?” Clint asks.

“Barton, even I could tell you were lying.”

Clint shrugs, and doesn’t even look ashamed.

“Well, Bucky pretty much killed her mood that she came storming in here with, but she’s too damned stubborn to just leave before she’s finished yelling at you, even if she’s not gonna yell anymore. So I figured I’d help you guys out.”

“Thanks.”

“Is...is _he_ okay?” Clint asks, gesturing at Bucky.

This time Steve doesn’t even try to contain his laugh.

“Yeah, he’ll be okay. This happens when I get seriously hurt. Once I’m on the mend, he’s a wreck. You should have seen him during the war. Thought we were gonna get court martialled more than once because of him.”

“I’m right here, you know,” Bucky mumbles into Steve’s torso.

“Court martial...oh, right. It was, uh, against the rules to, um...” Clint is a spy, but sometimes even all his training can’t help him when he gets himself stuck in an awkward situation.

“It was illegal to be gay,” Steve offers, helping him out. “Or, in our case, bisexual. Not that it really mattered. Queer was queer back then, even if you did like women too.”

“So this...”

“Isn’t new, no. You guys would have all found out eventually.” Steve eyed the ceiling. “So whoever is watching the security feed probably knows by now. Sam already knew. Nat knew. Thor...sort of knows. Tony _should_ know after the bridge incident, but he’s probably blocked the information from reaching his higher brain functioning.”

Clint’s shoulders droop and he looks dejected.

“Aww, man, why am I always the last to know stuff?”

“Well, Rhodey and Bruce don’t know,” Bucky offers helpfully, face still buried against Steve. He’s stopped crying, but Steve hasn’t stopped petting his head and running his fingers through his hair. He really likes how long it has gotten.

“Don’t know what?” Bruce asks, entering the room.

“That these two are apparently _a thing_ and have been since like, the thirties.”

“What, you mean, like, a couple? They’re like, sleeping together?”

“Yes!” Clint answers, nodding enthusiastically.

“Oh yeah. I thought everyone knew. I mean, it was pretty obvious. I may avoid intimate relationships and all, but I do know what one looks like.”

“What the shit?!” Clint cries, throwing his hands in the air dramatically.

“But you’re like, a spy, right? Aren’t you supposed to be good at reading people? Isn’t that your thing?” Bruce looks back and forth between Clint and the bed.

“Forget this. I’m out of here. See if I save you from Nat again!” Clint storms from the room as Steve laughs.

Bruce looks closely at Steve once Clint is gone.

“Are you guys really together?”

“Yes,” Bucky answers, turning his head to face Bruce. Apparently now that someone with an actual medical degree is in the room, he’s going to stop pretending to be an ostrich.

“Oh, that’s cool. I had some suspicions but I really didn’t know, I was just messing with Barton. So, listen, Steve, I know you’re doing better and all, but you need to stay here. In the tower. For a little bit, at least. We’re gonna need to keep a close eye on you, do regular scans on you to make sure everything is healing properly and that we don’t still need to do surgery. And you have to take it easy. No heavy lifting, no bending over, no, uh, strenuous activities—” he waved a hand in the air between Steve and Bucky, a slight blush on his face, “—basically bed rest, although not actually confined to bed, until you’re cleared.”

“I can do that,” Bucky says, sitting up and nodding eagerly. “I’ve had lots of practice taking care of this dumbass. It’s what I’m best at. Do we have to stay in medbay? Or can we go to Steve’s apartment?”

“ _Our_ apartment,” he corrects softly.

“What?” Bucky asks, turning to Steve.

“ _Our_ apartment. Not mine.” Steve smiles fondly at Bucky. He should probably say something else to him, make some comment about not needing a babysitter, but he knows how much it means to Bucky to take care of him. Especially now, after the serum. And he knows, without asking, that Bucky likely feels incredibly guilty for what happened. After taking care of each other, taking on needless guilt and blame is what they each excel at.

*****

After getting another scan, he’s allowed to leave medbay under strict orders to take it easy, and to alert doctors if he starts to feel lightheaded or if his headache gets worse.

Bucky wastes no time parking Steve on the couch once they’re through the door and sets about making a light lunch.

“They had supplements in the IV, so you don’t need much, but you should still eat something. I’ll have to arrange with the kitchens to have some groceries sent up, you don’t really have enough for the both of us for an extended amount of time, not with our metabolisms,” he says as he sets two plates down on the coffee table and goes back to the kitchen for drinks.

At the sight of the turkey sandwich, Steve discovers he’s starving, his stomach having been empty for well over twenty-four hours at this point.

“Thank you, Buck.” He pulls Bucky in for a kiss, and Bucky keeps it close-lipped and chaste, pulling away when Steve tries to deepen it.

“Unh-uh. No way. You’re supposed to be taking it easy, not elevating your heart rate or blood pressure. I’ll tie you down if I have to.”

“Promise?” Steve asks with a smirk, one eyebrow cocked.

“ _Steve_ ,” Bucky chides, but he can’t hide the amusement on his face.

“Fine. I’ve been wanting to show you some movies anyway. I suppose now is as good a time as any. When I woke up in the future...I couldn’t help but think how much you’d have loved it, all the technology, and I missed you so much, that I sort of became a fan myself, and spent a lot of time reading and watching sci-fi stuff. Have you seen any of the _Star Trek_ movies yet? Or _Star Wars?_ Or _Lord of the Rings_? That’s not really science fiction, it’s a fantasy one, but it’s pretty cool.”

Bucky stares at Steve, teeth dug into his bottom lip as his eyes shine, and he’s very clearly fighting tears.

“I’ve been watching _Dr. Who_ , and the old _Star Trek_ tv shows. Not the movies yet though. You really did that, for me? You never really cared for all that.”

“You did. I missed you. It was the one way I could keep you with me.”

“Christ, Steve,” Bucky gasps, and the next thing Steve knows, he’s on his back, Bucky on top of him, kissing him breathless. “How did I ever deserve you?” The words are whispered against his lips as Bucky presses his forehead to Steve’s.

“I ask myself that every time I open my eyes to your face,” Steve answers, emotion clogging his throat as he threads his fingers through Bucky’s hair and holds it back so he can see him. “Past or present.”

Bucky makes a strangled noise and settles with his head on Steve’s chest. They lay together for a long time, so long that Steve is sure Bucky has fallen back to sleep, and is nearly asleep himself, when Bucky speaks again.

“Let’s start with the _Lord of the Rings_ ones. I read the books. I don’t want to watch the _Trek_ ones til I’ve at least finished the original series.”

*****

It takes two days for them to watch all of the _Lord of the Rings_ and _Star Wars_ movies. They watch the _Star Wars_ prequel movies, even though they’re not as good, before the original trilogy. They both appreciate the advances in the technology of the special effects, but there’s just something about the originals that they enjoy more. They watch the _Hobbit_ series, too, even though it deviates wildly from the book, utilizes too much extraneous plot from lesser-known stories, and blatantly creates false story lines, as Bucky angrily points out. Steve never read them, so he can’t get into it, he just liked the movies. And watching Bucky get so heated about it makes him happy in a way he can’t put into words.

On the third day, they wander into Tony’s lab. Bucky is working on the car. Tony is working on something that Steve can’t even begin to understand. Steve quickly grows bored watching Tony putter around. He tried watching Bucky, but found it too distracting. Seeing him doing physical labor, getting dirty, trying to get the engine working around all the tech Tony is squeezing in—because somehow Bucky convinced him to make the car both street-legal _and_ have the option of flying—was unexpectedly arousing, especially now that they’d only had the one night back together before his brain had tried to explode and they couldn’t do anything.

“Tony, I was thinking about uniforms. We really should get Bucky something new, not Hydra-issue.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever you want. Draw it up.” Tony waves a hand dismissively as he swipes at the display floating above the table, and suddenly there’s a screen in front of Steve and he’s looking at 3-D rendering of Bucky’s body.

“Oh, okay. Cool.”

Steve tries his best to figure out the program, he _knows_ that Tony has made them fairly intuitive, but then again Tony’s brain also works _very_ differently from everyone else’s and what he thinks makes sense doesn’t always translate. After he asks what’s probably the fiftieth question, Tony loses it.

“Barnes! That’s it! Get him out of here before I punch him. He’s driving me nuts.”

“Steve, leave Tony alone.”

“I’m trying! I swear!”

“Tony, give him a pen and paper. Let him draw it by hand. It’ll take you two minutes to translate it to the program, instead of the two hours it’s gonna take him to do it.”

“It’ll take him two hours to draw it, so what’s the difference?”

Bucky starts to laugh hysterically.

“Tony, Steve has been drawing me since we were kids. He will have it done in like, ten minutes. Fifteen max.”

“Lies.”

“Fifty bucks says I’m not.”

“If he can do it in fifteen minutes, _in detail_ , not a rough sketch, I’ll make it a hundred.”

“Steve?” Bucky asks as he slides out from under the car. Steve’s heart skips a beat. Bucky is in worn jeans and a snug t-shirt, his face and arms now smudged with grease and grime. His hair, that had started out pulled into a tight bun at the crown of his head, is now starting to come loose, a few wisps curling down around his face, and the bun is hanging off to the side.

“Yeah?” he answers, swallowing down the desire to cross the room and shove his tongue down Bucky’s throat.

“Whad’ya say? Should we prove Tony wrong?”

Steve sees his opportunity and seizes it. After all, he’d drawn Bucky just last night, asleep on the couch where he’d sequestered himself to help discourage Steve’s wandering hands and lack of concern for medical orders.

“What do I get in return, if you’re making a hundred bucks off of me?” He doesn’t hide the fact that he’s openly eyeing Bucky’s body. Tony will probably— _hopefully_ —think that Steve is doing it in preparation for the drawing, but Bucky should know better. If the calculating way he looks at Steve as he tosses the rag back and forth between his hands is any indication, he knows exactly what Steve is getting at.

Bucky slowly runs his tongue between his lips before he chews on the bottom one, and Steve barely holds back his moan.

“I’ll make it up to you, dollface.”

“Okay, _eww_. Please, no more pet names in front of me.” Steve barely hears Tony though, focused as he is on Bucky’s mouth. There’s a devilish smirk twisting those lips as Bucky moves across the room in what Steve can only think of as a sort of stalking swagger-strut combination, and _fuck_ how is he supposed to draw now when all the blood in his body has made a hasty retreat into his cock?

Bucky stops directly in front of him, bodies flush together, and presses his lips to Steve’s ear.

“If you can do it in ten I’ll let you blow me, too, after I’m done with you,” he whispers, nipping at the lobe.

“Fuck, you’re not playing fair,” he gasps, knowing that he is absolutely _not_ going to be able to concentrate enough to finish in ten minutes now.

“Are you two done? Can I look again now? I’m not comfortable with old men flirting.”

Steve looks over to see Tony with his hand held against the side of his face, blocking his view of the two of them.

“Aww, you don’t complain when I flirt with _you_ , though, now do you?” Bucky teases.

“You don’t understand! I was raised by a man who practically worshiped Rogers, who held him on a pedestal as some sort of paragon of virtue and honor along with the rest of the country. I am not comfortable with _anything_ involving Rogers and the existence of any sort of sex life he might have.”

“That is so ridiculous. I’m not a damned virgin, Tony. Hell, I wasn’t even back when your father met me.”

“Lalalalalalala I can’t hear you,” Tony says, clamping his hands over his ears.

“You’re such a child sometimes, you know that?”

But Tony’s antics have helped, and Steve’s not quite so distracted by his cock any longer.

“Give me the paper and pen.”

He makes a few test strokes to get the feel of the way the ink flows, does a quick sketch of Tony with his hands over his ears— _ha ha, very funny Rogers,_ Tony says, even as he sticks it to the wall—and declares himself ready for doing Bucky’s picture.

“Okay, show-off, you’ve got fifteen minutes.”

“Or ten,” Bucky says, with a wink, and just like that, Steve’s concentration falters.

“Jarvis? You ready to time? Start as soon as he makes the first mark on the page. Oh, can you do me a display? So we can all see how long?”

“Of course, Sir. I am ready when you are, Captain.”

At the nine-minute mark, Steve is nearly done when he hears Bucky start coughing as though he’s choking, and he looks up. He’s got a water bottle in one hand, and the bottom of his now-soaked shirt held over his mouth as he attempts to regain his breath.

“Sorry. Wrong pipe,” he says, not sounding sorry in the least. He strips his shirt off and uses it to wipe at his wet chest.

“Better finish that drawing, Stevie. I was gonna get you somethin’ nice with that money," he says with a wink.

Steve curses and returns his attention to the drawing, glancing at the timer.

At the ten minutes and twenty-three seconds mark, he slams the pen down and grabs Bucky by the two ends of the shirt now draped around his neck and drags him from the lab.

“Shit, Rogers, this is good!” Tony calls after them.

“Talk about it later, Tony!” Steve answers as he shoves a laughing Bucky into the elevator. “You fucking cheated, you jerk,” he accuses, slamming his mouth against Bucky’s.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I would never.”

Steve bit down on Bucky’s bottom lip as he grinds against him.

“Liar.”

Bucky brings a hand between them and grips Steve’s cock tightly through his pants.

“Don’t worry, babydoll. You still get your reward. You did good.”

“I hate you right now. You know that, right? I could have been done before ten minutes if you hadn’t distracted me with that fucking water bottle.”

“Of course I distracted you. You’re supposed to be taking it easy. I shouldn’t even be blowing _you_ , there’s no way I’m letting you blow me and get that worked up.”

Bucky shoves two warm fingers into Steve’s mouth and leads him from the elevator and into their room that way. His still smells faintly of the soap he’d used to scrub himself up while Steve had drawn Tony, the citrus scent far from the musk of Bucky’s cock that he’d prefer to have in his mouth at the moment.

“Here, babydoll, I’ll let you suck on these while I suck on you. How’s that?”

Steve glares at him and bites gently, a teasing warning, which only makes Bucky laugh.

“Whatever you do to my fingers, I’m gonna do to your cock, sweetheart. Might want to rethink that plan.”

Steve would hate him if he didn’t love how much of the old Bucky was here, the one who got off on taking care of Steve even while giving him shit because he could.

“Don’t you want me to make this good for you, Stevie? You’re not showing me what you want me to do. I need you to tell me. How can I be good for you if I don’t know?”

They’re at the bed now, and Bucky has made no move to get them onto it. Steve grabs him by the hips and spins them, so that Bucky lands on his back on the bed with Steve on top. He grinds down hard and drags his tongue between Bucky’s fingers, forcing them apart as he laves at them. Bucky groans and pushes Steve over onto his back.

“Fuck, Steve, easy, sweetheart. Let me do all the work, okay? We shouldn’t even be doing this.” Bucky peppers kisses along Steve’s jaw, pulling his fingers out to replace them with his tongue.

“Please,” Steve begs, pulling their hips together again, rubbing himself along Bucky’s equally hard cock.

“Worst patient ever.” Despite his words, Bucky slides down Steve’s body and tugs his pants off. Steve goes to grab Bucky’s head but hesitates.

“Can I?” he asks.

“Yes. But let me set the pace, okay? Can’t have your heart rate spiking too quickly or Jarvis will call the docs on us. Trust me?”

Steve nods, and his eyes close and his head falls back into the pillow with a groan as Bucky’s mouth closes around him.

“Fuck I missed your mouth, Jesus, always so good at this...” They’d been giving each other blowjobs since long before they’d actually had sex, and Bucky had learned how to play Steve’s body like a finely tuned grand piano. It was a skill that had come in handy during the war when they’d only had a few minutes to sneak. It was also a skill that could be used for the opposite, and Bucky knew how to draw it out, make it last, slowly build the tension inside Steve until he was out of his mind with pleasure. Steve had a love/hate relationship with that particular skill of Bucky’s.

Bucky was doing just that now, slowly sliding up and down Steve’s shaft, one hand gently fondling his sac, the other stretched up and resting on Steve’s abdomen. He teased his tongue through the slit at the top, then around the sensitive fold of foreskin, drawing another deep groan from Steve. His hips rock up as he tries to chase the retreat of Bucky’s mouth and the arm on his stomach presses down in warning.

“Hold still or I’ll stop, sweetheart,” Bucky says, kissing his way down the shaft and taking a teasing swipe of his tongue over Steve’s perineum.

“God, please, Buck...”

“You’re only getting one, sweetheart. Don’t you want me to make it good for you? You really want me to rush it?”

“Shit,” he hisses as Bucky sucks on his sac, hand sliding up and down his shaft. Steve moves his hands up to hold the headboard, doing his best to not thrust into Bucky’s hold. Bucky teases him for what feels like an eternity, sucking and licking and stroking at his shaft, his foreskin, every inch of his cock, until he’s stringing Steve along the edge of his orgasm.

Bucky pushes hard against his perineum, putting pressure on his prostate from the outside, and Steve can’t take any more. One hand flies from headboard and grabs Bucky’s head, fingers tangling in the disheveled mess, and he thrusts up roughly as he chases his orgasm. Bucky swallows reflexively at the sudden intrusion to the back of his throat and Steve is flying.

“ _Fuck!_ ” he cries, body tensing as he comes. Bucky swallows him down, nose still buried in the hair at his base, continuing to deep-throat him through the spasms until the stimulation is overwhelming and Steve pulls him back.

“Christ, I swear your mouth was made by the devil himself,” Steve says as he drags Bucky up and into a kiss. He licks into Bucky’s mouth, tasting himself there, and reaches down to shove a hand inside Bucky’s pants. Bucky wriggles them down his thighs as Steve wraps his hand around Bucky’s cock. Bucky moans into his mouth, hips rocking in time with Steve’s strokes, and it’s not long before he comes, a hot mess covering Steve’s hand and coating his shirt that he hadn’t bothered to remove.

“Beg your pardon, sirs,” Jarvis’s polite voice interrupts. “But may I remind you that Captain Rogers’ next brain scan is scheduled for twenty minutes from now.”

“Shit,” Steve breathes, and Bucky laughs. “Thank you, Jarvis.”

“Might want to take a shower, babydoll. Wouldn’t want the good doctors to see my mess all over you. Especially since I said I would make sure you didn’t get up to any shenanigans.” He presses a kiss to Steve’s nose before he rolls off and tucks himself back into his jeans with a smirk. “Clock’s ticking.”


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bucky and Steve get into shenanigans while grounded to the tower and everyone wants to kill them, lol

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey everyone! sorry for the delay in updating, but this is a LONG chapter compared to what I've been posting, so I'm sure you'll forgive me. ;) There may not be another update til after the holidays, because I'm writing a piece for the Hydra Holiday Trash Exchange and need to get that finished before the end of the month.

Steve returns from his appointment looking thoroughly chastised and miserable, and Bucky is on him the moment he closes the door.

“Steve? What’s wrong?”

Steve actually blushes, and it’s adorable, but it also quickly helps to dispel some of Bucky’s concerns.

“Well, um...” Steve rubs the back of his neck and drops his gaze to the floor.

“Did Jarvis rat us out?”

“No, it’s not that.” He kicks his shoes off and flops face down onto the couch. “I’ve got a slight headache again now, so of course I told them that, because it’s important, and they did the scan and then gave me a couple of shots, something for blood pressure. I’m supposed to take another one after dinner. So they asked what I was doing today, and pulled up the records of my vitals, because Jarvis has been monitoring them, and I had to tell them _something_ , so I said that while I was in the shower...” He doesn’t even finish the statement before Bucky is laughing.

“Oh my god. I wish I could have seen your face. How many shades of red was it? Jarvis, do you have the footage? Please?”

“Jarvis don’t you dare!”

Bucky’s laughter dies down to giggles.

“I’m sorry you have a headache though. Are you okay?” He reaches out and gently strokes Steve’s head, running his fingers through the slightly damp locks. It’s longer than he can ever remember it being, and he really likes how the length and thickness has darkened the color, from the sunshine blond he’d been as a kid to the honey-wheat that matches the darkness of the stubble dusting his jaw.

“Yeah. They didn’t see anything that made them worry I’d have another stroke, but gave me the medicine and I have to go back first thing in the morning for another scan.”

Bucky presses a kiss to Steve’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry sweetheart. But you know what that means, right?”

“That we’re gonna die of sexual frustration before I’m cleared?”

“Yup.”

Bucky falls to the floor and sits with his back to the couch, resting his head against Steve’s shoulder, and Steve wraps his arm around him.

“We gotta find something to do, Stevie.”

“Yup.”

*****

Board games quickly lost their novelty. As did card games. Steve couldn’t even get into painting or drawing, and no book that Bucky picked up could hold his attention for longer than an hour or two.

“I need to punch something. Fuck I’m bored!” Bucky declared, tossing the latest book on top of the pile.

“Go ahead. You can go to the gym.”

“No, it’s not fair to you. I’m not gonna make you sit here and suffer while I work out my frustrations on a punching bag.”

“Buck, it’s only been two days since our...incident. We’ve got another week to go, and you’re already miserable. Go.”

“No, I told you I’d keep you company, so I’m staying put.”

Steve sighs heavily and drops his head back on the couch, staring at the ceiling.

“Remember the war? When we were holed down during that storm in France for a week?”

“What about it?” Bucky scrunched up his face, trying to figure out what Steve was getting at. “All I can remember right now is how much of your cock I got to have that week, which ain’t exactly helping our current situation.” He shifted his hips and slouched further into the armchair he was sitting sideways on.

“Okay, besides that. Remember the prank war the guys got into, trying to keep themselves entertained?”

“Yeah, they were afraid to do anything to Peggy’s room, so I convinced you to join in and get her...”

Steve laughs. “Yeah, I thought she was gonna shoot me again.”

“So what’re you thinking?” Bucky cranes his head around to look at Steve, who has a look on his face that Bucky knows from experience spells trouble.

“I’m thinking we’ve got six unsuspecting targets.”

“Five,” Bucky quickly corrects.

“Five?”

“You really want to take that chance with Banner?”

“Hmm. Good point. Okay. So five. Who’s first?”

*****

They decide on Clint first, mostly because he’ll be the easiest, but also because he’s the least likely to be angry about it. They get permission from the doctors for Steve to leave the tower, and with the aid of some photostatic veils, they hit the mall for supplies. Planning and shopping and prepping manages to kill an entire day, and Bucky finds himself looking forward to their assigned tasks, if only to keep them occupied and focused on something other than not being able to exercise or have sex. Steve will run diversion while Bucky executes the pranks. He’ll need Jarvis’s help for a couple of them, and for whatever reason—perhaps it’s Tony’s own fun-loving nature that has bled over into the programming—he appears to be more than willing to assist.

~~~

He finds Clint in the community kitchen, drinking what is probably his tenth cup of coffee for the day, knowing him.

“Clint, we’re bored as fuck. Wanna go down to the range and do some targets? He’s not supposed to exercise, and I’m refraining as well in support, so the gym is out. But we realized that target practice is totally okay because he won’t be exerting himself.”

“Yeah, sure, why not? I’ve got some new tips to try out that Tony was messing around with. Not really doing anything else right now.”

Bucky grins, dragging him out to the lounge area with an arm over his shoulder.

“Steve, c’mon! Clint says he’s in. Got some new gear he’s gotta get used to or something. Maybe we’ll stand a chance at a contest if he’s using new shit.”

Clint scoffs. “In your dreams, Barnes. Even with new gear I’ll still beat your asses.”

“Well, you’ll definitely beat Steve. He’s gotten too attached to the shield and his fists, doesn’t use guns enough anymore. He absolutely needs the practice.”

Steve has the good sense to look offended, despite the truth to Bucky’s statement.

“Listen, it’s just infinitely more satisfying to do it by hand, that’s all I’m saying. Besides, we’ve got Tony with all his targeting abilities, and Clint, and now you, Buck. I’m pretty sure if something needs to be shot, one of you will be able to hit it.”

“I always hit it, babydoll.”

Steve flushes instantly, and Clint begins coughing, as if he doesn’t want to hear whatever Steve replies with. Hand pressed to the panel in the wall, Clint opens the weapons room. Bucky watches with concealed glee as Clint takes two steps in and freezes, his face falling.

“What the shit? Where’s my stuff?”

“Clint? What’s wrong?” Bucky follows him into the room, looking around. Everything is where it’s supposed to be: guns and knives and bullets and all of Nat’s zappy stuff, some prototype armor for him, and random bits of armor for the others. All of it hung neatly in pristine, backlit cases or set on glistening white shelves, like something dreamed up by the lovechild of a war-monger and a science-fiction writer.

It was Tony Stark’s design, so of course that made sense.

Everything looked almost too high-tech for its own good. Everything, that is, except for Clint’s wall. Behind the slight sheen of a forcefield that only an Avenger could drop, where Clint’s bows and arrows and tips should have resided, hung what could perhaps be considered the greatest collection of Nerf toys known to man. It looked like someone had bought the entire Nerf supply at a toy store and loaded it into Clint’s section.

Which is essentially what they’d done, even if it _was_ a bit of overkill.

“Aww, arrows...” Clint’s voice is practically a whine when he turns to look at them, giving them huge puppy-dog eyes that rivaled the look Steve would give Bucky to get his way on something. “ _Bucky,_ _where is my stuff?_ ”

Bucky raises his hands in a defensive posture.

“What are you asking me for? I’m not Robin Hood. I’m the fucking Winter Soldier. I don’t use that shit.”

“You know what? I’ll still kick your asses with this.” Clint drops the forcefield and grabs a blue and orange number that Bucky remembers picking out. It fires 15 foam darts without reloading. “And then you’re helping me find my stuff.”

Bucky had been a goddamn sniper. He’d been a cold, ruthless killing machine. He’d been Steve’s boyfriend back when that was illegal and he had to hide it. The point was, he was _good_ at schooling his emotions, at keeping his face neutral, at feigning ignorance.

But Steve?

He gave them away.

He _always_ ended up giving them away somehow.

The motherfucker started _giggling_ at the look on Clint’s face—a combination of anger and determination and disappointment.

“Shut _up_ , Rogers!” Bucky hissed, but it was too late.

“Aww, Steve, really? You did this? For reals, it was you guys?”

“I wanna see you use it,” Steve manages to say between laughs. “You said—you said you would, before—”

“You know what? You’re on.”

Clint grabs another toy weapon, puts the forcefield back on—which causes Steve to laugh even harder—and storms across the hall.

Steve looks over at Bucky, tears glistening in his eyes from laughing.

“This was your idea, man. Let’s go,” Bucky says, grabbing a few guns from his own wall and passing one to Steve.

By the time they left the range, Bucky and Clint were the only ones laughing.

“Come _on_ , that last one shouldn’t have counted!” Steve complained as he trailed behind them. “Bucky distracted me!”

“Sweetheart, if you can’t handle a distraction on the range, how do you expect to ignore one when it matters in a fight? Stop being a sore loser.”

“You guys cheated,” Steve pouts, arms crossed over his chest and bottom lip stuck out like a tantruming toddler.

“Aww, does somebody need some ice cream?”

Clint snorted as he pulled the toys from his wall.

“I get to keep these, right?”

Bucky shrugs. “Sure. I stashed your stuff in the next room, so it wasn’t far, just in case. I’ll grab the bags.”

“You guys planning on getting anyone else? Is this how you’re occupying your time now?” Clint asks as Bucky starts unpacking Clint’s real gear.

“You gonna tell on us?” he asks, side-eyeing Clint as he sets a quiver in place.

“Hell no! I wanna help you get Nat.”

Bucky laughs. “I’m pretty sure we only need one of us to get hurt. She’ll go easy on Steve since he’s still on the doctor’s watch and she’s strangely protective of him. But she won’t hesitate to retaliate against me. Don’t want you getting blue balls cuz she cuts you off for helping.”

~~~

Bucky and Steve were back in Tony’s lab. Steve was making adjustments to the design that he’d drawn for Bucky’s new suit. It was a slow process, as it required Tony and Steve to work together on the program, which always led to much arguing over details.

“Barnes, why aren’t you over here? It’s your damned suit, anyway!”

Bucky hid his grin. Tony only called him ‘Barnes’ when he was irritated, and even then it was usually only when _Steve_ irritated him, as if it was Bucky’s fault somehow that Steve was being Steve.

“I trust Steve,” he says, shrugging one shoulder. “He’s more familiar with the materials you work with. He’ll know what I need.”

“What are you even working on— _is that_ _Natasha’s gun?_ ”

“No, but it’s damned close. Looks good?”

“What are you doing?” Tony asks, a look of horror on his face.

“Making a water gun look like Nat’s favorite gun. What’s it look like I’m doing?”

“I mean—yeah, that’s what it looks like, but— _why_?”

“Cuz it’ll be fun.”

“She’s gonna shoot you.”

“Won’t hurt if it’s a water gun, now will it?”

Steve snickers as he taps something on the screen and Tony leans back in his chair, studying Bucky.

“You know, I didn’t think it was possible for someone to be more reckless than this idiot, but now I see that I’m wrong. It must be a generational thing.”

“Whatever you say, Tony. Hey, Jarvis, can we get some music? I need something to drown out the sound of those two fighting.”

“Of course, Sargent. Anything in particular you’d like?”

“You got any Ella Fitzgerald?”

“Certainly, sir.”

The opening orchestral strains of _Goodnight My Love_ began. The lyrics don’t begin until roughly a minute into the song, and Tony doesn’t even make it that far before he’s vetoing the choice.

“Nope, nope, I’m sorry, apologies to the resident grandpas, but we’ve discussed this. _My_ lab, _my_ music. Jarvis, play some Led Zeppelin. _Kashmir_ , I think. That shouldn’t offend their delicate ears.”

“Of course, Sir.”

Steve blusters something about Tony not listening to real music while Bucky bites the inside of his cheek in anticipation.

Instead of Led Zeppelin, Cab Calloway’s _Minnie the Moocher_ begins playing.

“Jarvis what the hell?”

“My apologies, Sir. There seems to be an error with the file.”

“Fine, whatever, sort it out. Play Rush then, _Tom Sawyer._ ”

“Right away, Sir.”

The trumpets and Cab’s gravelly voice cut off.

Glenn Miller Orchestra’s _In the Mood_ begins playing.

“Jarvis?”

Steve starts to lose his cool and Tony narrows his eyes.

“What did you do to my system? Jarvis, play AC/DC.”

_Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy_ by The Andrews Sisters starts and Bucky can’t control himself any longer. He lets out a snort at Jarvis’s alternate choice.

“Rolling Stones,” Tony barks.

Louis Armstrong’s _When You’re Smiling_ plays instead.

Steve falls out of his chair, one hand clasped over his chest, head thrown back in laughter.

“Metallica.”

_Over the Rainbow_ by Judy Garland starts and Bucky is done. Tears stream down his cheeks, and he can barely breathe he’s laughing so hard.

“Get out. Get the fuck out of my lab. Both of you. Jarvis, if you don’t play my music right now, I swear to god I will rewrite all of your programming and scrap you.”

~~~

They’d taken to hanging out in the common room all day, when they weren’t trying to pull off a prank. It was easier to keep their hands off each other if they weren’t in their rooms. Bucky had even had to start sleeping on the couch because it was getting so bad.

So that’s where Steve was when a very wet Bucky came storming through, grabbed a bottle of something from the bar, and then stormed back to the elevator. He’s about to get up from the couch and follow, to find out what’s going on, when an irritated looking Natasha marches in.

“Tell him next time it’s going to be a knife and not my drink,” she says, and spins on her heel to return to wherever she came from.

Clint snickers from behind Steve.

Steve picks his book back up and resumes the drawing he’d been working on, a grin on his face now. He’d drawn this same image four times already. Even with an eidetic memory, he wanted to make sure it was perfect, wanted the lines to fall as easily as breathing. He planned to make this into a painting for Bucky for his birthday, and therefore it had to be flawless. Recreating a photograph of people he hadn’t seen since before the war wasn’t exactly a cake walk.

~~~

After the failed attempt on Natasha, two things happened: everyone in the tower knew what was going on, if they hadn’t already caught on, which meant that everyone was keeping a watchful eye on the two of them. The other thing was that Bucky became more determined than ever to pull off the Natasha mission.

“Hey, Steve? Um, can you grab the first aid kit?”

Steve looks up from his computer screen and practically jumps up, knocking the chair backwards as he goes. Bucky has his shirt off. It’s wrapped around his right forearm, which is being held tightly against his chest. Steve can see the blooming spread of a crimson stain on the material, and what looks like a black plastic handle poking up through the folds of the shirt on the underside of Bucky’s arm.

Clearly a defensive wound.

“What did I tell you?” he admonishes, while making quick strides to the bathroom. Bucky is waiting in the kitchen, arm held over the sink, clean towels piled on the counter at the ready.

“Just pour the saline in to flush it when I pull out the blade. It didn’t hit any major tendons, it’ll heal by morning. Just gotta keep it covered and pressure on it.”

“She warned you. Told you it’d be a knife.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I thought she was in Barton’s room.”

“Did it ever occur to you that she _wanted_ you to think that?”

Bucky chuckles. “You’re probably right.”

“You want me to put a tourniquet on it first? Slow the blood flow?”

“Nah, I’m not actually worried about infection, you know that. Just want to rinse it so I can bandage it. If we staunch it, it’ll just make a bigger mess when we let it up.”

Steve sighs as he looks at the knife. He knows Natasha is as zealous about her weaponry as Bucky, and knows that the small double-bladed knife is razor sharp. The cut will be clean. He also knows that it wouldn’t be currently lodged in Bucky’s arm if Steve hadn’t gotten caught and hurt in the first place.

“Ready Stevie?”

“Yeah,” he agrees, and hears the resignation in his voice. If his own illnesses hadn’t cured him of his dislike of seeing blood, the war certainly had. The squeamishness he’d had as a child had been replaced by a flat _lack_ of reaction.

Except when it had been Bucky who’d gotten hurt.

“Hey,” Bucky says, voice soft. He waits until Steve meets his gaze before he continues speaking. “This was my own stupidity and overconfidence. I can take care of it myself if you don’t want to.”

“No, I’m not leaving.” Steve swallows thickly. “You’re trying to help keep me entertained by doing these. Least I can do is patch you up when you’re too stubborn to stay away from her.”

“Jerk,” Bucky teases, but the mood has shifted, and the tense set of Bucky’s shoulders has eased. Steve is doing his best to keep his eyes from all the bare skin within reach. They’ve been intentionally avoiding any sort of undress around each other for a week now. And while in the grand scheme of things, it’s not a long time, given their heightened sex drives—thanks yet again to the serum—and their own natural desire for each other, their long-ingrained closeness and easy physical intimacy, it feels like an eternity. Especially given the fact that they’d only just barely resumed their sexual relationship.

“The knife is in my arm, Stevie. Not my chest.”

Steve sucks in a ragged breath.

“Right. Your arm.”

~~~

Steve is once again in the common room, halfheartedly watching a movie. He is wholeheartedly trying to _not_ think about the raging hard-on he’d gone to bed with last night after he and Bucky dragged themselves apart from a seriously heavy make-out session once they got his arm patched up.

The stairway door slams open and Bucky comes into the room at a run, vaults over the back of the couch, and pulls the blanket down over his legs, which he’s got draped over Steve’s lap.

“I’ve been here all morning with you,” he says, breathless.

“What?”

“All. Morning.”

Steve’s brows draw together in confusion as he stares at Bucky, movie completely forgotten.

Five minutes later, Steve hears Sam bellowing as the elevators open.

“Barnes! Where are you, you fucker? Get your ass back here! I know it was you!”

Steve snickers and slips the arm closest to Bucky under the blanket. Bucky gasps when Steve’s hand grabs him firmly through the sweatpants he’s wearing. Steve winks at him just as Sam enters the room.

“Goddammit, Bucky, this is _not_ funny!”

“What’s not funny, Sam?” Steve asks, tipping his head back against the top of the couch to look at Sam behind them.

“Birds!”

“Birds? I’m afraid I don’t follow you. Can you elaborate a little for me?”

“Don’t you fucking sit there and act like you don’t know what he did!” Sam waves an angry finger in Steve’s face as he comes around to stand between the television and the coffee table. “ _Birds_. My room is fucking _full_ of _birds_! Pigeons!”

“Did you leave a window open?” Bucky asks. His voice is normal, but Steve can see the rapid flutter of his pulse in the vein in his neck, and the way his hand tightens on the cushion in sync with the twitching of his cock beneath Steve’s hand.

“The windows don’t open!” Sam yells, throwing his hands in the air.

“Wait, don’t falcons eat pigeons? Maybe someone thought you might want a snack? I’ve heard pigeon meat is supposed to taste like chicken.” Steve is proud of his even tone and steady face. Keeping part of his mind on what he’s doing to Bucky helps with the improved poker face. Bucky grinds his ass into the couch, trying to escape the rhythmic squeezing of Steve’s hand, and Steve grabs lower, holding Bucky firmly by the balls. Thankfully Sam’s attention is on Steve, or he might have caught the slight whimper and heavy exhale that comes from Bucky.

“Hungry? The fuck? Listen man, all I know is that your boy here just seriously fucked up my shit. _With_ shit. _Pigeon_ shit. You know how fucking dirty those things are? How trashed my stuff is now?”

“Sam, all of your important stuff is at the house. This is all the shit Tony’s people prepped the rooms with. I doubt it’s an issue.” Bucky says. His breath catches slightly, and Sam notices.

“Look at you. You’re sweaty and out of breath. Because you were running from the scene of the crime.”

“Nope, I’ve been here watching crappy movies with Steve all morning.”

“Then how do you explain—” Suddenly, Sam’s eyes take in the scene. Bucky, reclined on the couch, stretched across Steve, both of them covered with an obscenely oversized blanket. Steve’s arm, out of sight, but the blanket not exactly hiding where his hand is.

“Oh hell no. That’s disgusting. Y’all have rooms for that shit.”

“Sam,” Steve says, using his best _Captain America, your leader_ voice. “I am under strict doctor’s orders to not tax my system _in any way_. That includes any type of _physical exertion that significantly elevates my heart rate_. I am not interested in causing my brain to explode from a previously undiagnosed medical issue that was exacerbated by the actions of the Hydra agents who abducted me two weeks ago. I take offense that you would insinuate that—”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Sam waves his hand dismissively. “You know I can pull up the footage from Jarvis, right? So just admit that you did it, Bucky. And then help me get them out. And _then_ , you’re paying for my new stuff.”

“Why do I have to help? They’re birds. Can’t you just talk to them? Or, you know, eat them? Since they’re prey?”

“You’re an asshole. I fucking swear to Christ I miss the Asset more and more every day that you two are cooped up in this tower.”

“Sammy, that hurts me, man.”

Sam squeezes his eyes shut, pinches the bridge of his nose, and sighs deeply. It’s a sigh of resignation and acceptance.

“One day you’re gonna tell me how you caught a dozen pigeons and got them in my room,” he says as he walks away.

“Have Clint kill them for you, it’ll take like two seconds.”

“Yeah, sure,” he agrees.

“Oh! And there’s fifteen, not a dozen,” Bucky calls after him. “You know, so he brings enough arrows.”

“ _God damn you Barnes!”_ Sam shouts as the elevator doors close to the sound of Steve and Bucky laughing.

Bucky’s laugh quickly turns to a groan as Steve strokes Bucky’s cock firmly.

“Steve, fuck, please, stop,” he breathes.

“You sure that’s what you want, sweetheart?”

“Yes—no— _Christ,_ stop, stop!”

Bucky rolls himself off Steve and onto the floor, pulling the blanket with him, wrapping himself in it as though it’s armor.

“Stop,” he gasps. “The last time I let you take control we ended up with another two weeks of celibacy.”

Steve groans and drops his head back on the couch again, dragging his fingers through his hair.

“It’s just a few more days, Stevie. We can do this.”

~~~

Steve stares at Clint, trying to read his face. He has no clue if the man is bluffing or not. He’s not even fidgeting. Meanwhile, Steve can’t sit still, and it shows in the giant pile of chips in front of Clint, compared to Steve’s meager handful.

Steve is never going to be able to join poker night at this rate.

He sighs and looks at his cards. He knows he has a good hand. He’s got a full house. It’s just shitty low numbers. But the way Clint has bid...

“Fuck it. I fold.”

Clint groans.

“Steve, I can _tell_ you’ve got a decent hand. Trust your gut, not just your eyes. Show me what you have.”

Steve humors Clint and shows his cards: sixes over twos. Nothing spectacular. Then Clint shows his cards, and he’s only got a single pair.

“Fuck!” Steve cries, and watches Clint take more of his dwindling chips.

He sits back and sighs, crossing his arms over his chest. The elevator dings, and out of habit he glances over.

And then does a double-take.

Natasha calmly strides from the elevator, with Bucky in tow.

A wrapped up and hog-tied semi-conscious Bucky.

Who she is dragging with seemingly little effort.

Steve swallows.

He hears Clint suck in a breath.

Natasha silently deposits Bucky on the floor next to Steve and drops the modified water gun on the table.

Steve lifts his gaze to meet hers, and the corner of his mouth twitches before he can school his expression. He can see the light in her eyes—she’s actually enjoying this game now between her and Bucky.

“How...how did you do that?” Clint whispers, clearly in awe.

“You really want to know?” Steve quips. He knows what kind of rough sex he and Nat used to have on occasion, but she’s clearly been holding back on Clint.

“Yes. Yes, I would like that _very much,_ please and thank you,” he answers, and from the corner of his eyes Steve can see Clint nodding his head enthusiastically. Steve quirks a brow at Natasha and tips his head slightly in Clint’s direction.

Natasha smirks, her perfectly sculpted brows twitching up and back down again as if to say, “ _sure, why not?_ ”

“Let’s go then, Barton,” she murmurs, turning back to the elevators without so much as a single glance to Clint.

Clint scrambles from the table, trips over Bucky in his hurry, and nearly falls before catching his balance, making it inside the elevator just before the doors close.

Laughing, Steve looks down to Bucky, who is considerably more alert now.

“You done?” Steve asks.

“Yeah, Steve, I’m done. Can you help me? I don’t feel like slicing through my arm and legs trying to break this damned wire.” Bucky’s eyes dart wildly around the room, and Steve can see the panic rising in the stormy blue-gray depths. Demons, trying to haunt Bucky.

“Sure. Hold still a minute though.”

“Steve, what—aw, come on, no, please don’t—”

Grinning, Steve takes several photos with his phone before he gets down on the floor to remove the EMP disc paralyzing his arm and start unwinding the wire. Bucky puts up a token protest as Steve makes a show about getting pictures from every angle.

“This is a good look for you, Buck. Wanted to make sure I got it all. Thought maybe once I’m better we can try to recreate it with some silk rope.”

Bucky gasps, and Steve watches his pupils dilate in response to his words.

“Oh god, please,” he whispers. Bucky drops his face to the floor, hiding behind his hair, but not before Steve sees the flush of red rapidly spreading from his cheeks and down his neck. Steve leans over Bucky and presses his mouth close to Bucky’s ear.

“Maybe I’ll just leave you like this in the bed all day while I go about my business. Go to the gym. To meetings. Who knows? I’ll leave you waiting like this for hours. How many times do you think you’d need to rut against the sheets, get yourself off, just to relieve the need building inside you?”

“St— _Steve!_ ”

With a throaty chuckle Steve sits back up to free Bucky’s limbs. His legs fall heavily to the floor as he waits for Steve to free the bindings on his wrists and ankles. His breath is shaky, but a check of his eyes tells Steve that Bucky is with him, not trapped in his memories.

“I’ve always been a quick learner. We can find tutorials online, I’m sure. Or maybe find someone to teach us how to do it.”

Bucky makes a strangled noise, sounding like a whimper of agreement. His legs are free, but his hands remain bound behind his back, wire still circling his torso and chest, trapping them tightly to his body. Steve hums thoughtfully.

“You really like that idea, don’t you, sweetheart?”

Bucky nods, two quick jerks of his head, in confirmation.

“On your feet, soldier.”

“But you didn’t—”

Steve cuts him off as he grabs a handful of hair and yanks his head back mercilessly.

“I said _on your feet,_ ” he growls into Bucky’s face. Bucky’s eyes go wide and Steve releases the hold and stands, arms crossed as he stares down at him. “Don’t make me repeat myself again.”

Bucky’s chest heaves as he pulls his legs beneath him and gets himself standing. Steve’s gaze rakes over Bucky’s body. He’s tight, but in anticipation, not in preparation to fight.

“Follow me,” he orders, and heads for the elevators.

Bucky dutifully follows him. Once the doors are closed, Steve cages Bucky in the corner and grinds his cock against Bucky’s thigh.

“See, I had another doctor appointment this afternoon. And they said I should start increasing my activity. I _was_ going to wait until later. But then Natasha had to go and bring you to me all nice and pretty-like, wrapped up and ready to go...so I guess before dinner is just as good as after.”

Bucky whines and pushes into Steve’s body with his.

“And you’ve been so good to me the last couple of weeks. I think you deserve a reward for that, sweetheart.” Steve noses along Bucky’s jaw line, taking teasing nips at his throat as he speaks, while he digs the heel of his hand roughly into Bucky’s crotch.

Bucky keens, body going rigid.

“You going to come like this, right here? Always been so needy for me, huh Buck? So damned hungry for my touch. Wouldn’t need more’n two minutes snuck away in the woods on patrol, now did we? You’d fly apart the minute your cock hit the back of my throat.”

Bucky moans loudly, and Steve feels the orgasm tear through Bucky, feels the spasms of his cock under Steve’s hand, the warmth spreading through the material, the way his body goes lax. If Steve didn’t have him pinned to the wall with his own weight he’d likely have slid to the floor.

“There’s a good boy,” Steve whispers, gentling his touch, soothing Bucky through the remaining twitches.

“’m older’n you,” Bucky huffs, and Steve laughs.

The doors open and Steve helps Bucky stand. For a moment they don’t move. Bucky is leaning into Steve, his face buried in Steve’s neck. Steve wraps his arms around Bucky and holds him tight.

“Thank you.”

Steve can barely hear the words, but he feels the movement of Bucky’s lips against his skin and combs his fingers through Bucky’s hair.

“You can thank me by getting on your knees.”

“You’re a jerk,” Bucky laughs, pulling back to look at Steve. “I’m serious. Thank you for pulling me out of my head like that.”

Steve cups Bucky’s jaw firmly, gaze lingering on his mouth before he meets his eyes.

“I’m serious too. Who said we were done?”

Bucky exhales heavily, like the air has been punched out of him.

“Get your ass in the bedroom.”


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did you miss the filth? you might want to grab a tall glass of something cold... ;) 
> 
> also, this chapter goes EVERYWHERE, lol. Bucky hijacked it as I was writing and this is what happened and I had no control over it. hope you enjoy!

Bucky has decided that telling Steve how much he enjoys the idea of submitting to him was the smartest thing he’s ever done in his life.

They sit together, at their little table by the window, enjoying breakfast in the early morning sun. Steve is reading something on his tablet as he sips his coffee, while Bucky is content to watch Steve and the city far below them as he munches on another strip of bacon.

He hasn’t felt this relaxed since before the war. They hadn’t even gotten overly involved with their activities, since Steve was still supposed to be taking it somewhat easy. But he’d slept the night through without a single bad dream two nights in a row now—not that either of them really required a ton of sleep, hence breakfast at dawn.

Steve silently pushes his plate closer to Bucky without looking up from his tablet. The corners of his eyes crinkle in amusement when Bucky spears the remaining two sausage links without hesitation.

“Good morning, sirs. The event you have been waiting for has occurred. As per your request, I am informing you that now would be an optimal time to carry out your plans.” Jarvis’s smooth voice interrupts their idyll. Bucky grins. After Sam and Natasha, he’d been convinced to lay low for a few days—not that Steve had had to try very hard to get Bucky to stay put and out of trouble when there was the promise of sex.

“Excellent! Thank you, J.”

Bucky grins and looks over at Steve, who now has a guarded expression on his face. He’s had it other times when they talked about this particular prank, but won’t tell Bucky what is going on. Bucky wonders if there’s something between the men that he doesn’t know about.

“Jarvis, where do we need to go?”

“The item in question has been left behind the bar in the main lounge area, Captain.”

“And the owner?” Bucky asks.

“Is still sleeping, sirs. He drank exceedingly large amounts of alcohol last night during the party.”

“Hey Stevie, wanna go watch some shitty tv in the common room?”

“Sure, Buck.”

His normal enthusiasm is reserved, and Bucky narrows his eyes as he studies Steve.

“What are you not telling me, sweetheart?”

Steve sighs.

“It’s nothing, Bucky. I swear.”

“You’re a terrible liar. You know I can see through you every time.”

“Yeah, well, let me have this one, okay? When you need to know, I’ll tell you. I promise.”

Bucky continues to glare suspiciously at Steve for a moment longer before he clears the table and goes to get dressed. Steve finishes up whatever he was doing on the tablet and joins him just as he’s pulling the 3-D printed Mjolnir out from the closet and slipping it into a bag to carry it without anyone seeing.

“You know this is the craziest plan you’ve ever come up with, right?”

“Yeah, but think of how hilarious his face will be!” Bucky grabs his phone from the night stand as they head for the door. “C’mon, sweetheart, you know this is gonna be fun.”

_**[final protocol group]** _

_**JB:** _ _the plan worked. anyone who’s alive enough this morning come to the common room. i’ll make breakfast._

_**N:** _ _at this point I either need more alcohol or a blood transfusion_

_**JB:** _ _i’ll make you a bloody mary, give you some hair o’ the dog ;)_

_**robin hood:** _ _we’ll be there_

_**robin hood:** _ _god damn it, bucky, stop changing my name in the group chats_

_**N:** _ _we could call you legolas again? Tony is dying to bring that back._

_**robin hood:** _ _...this is fine_

_**JB:** _ _your hair isn’t pretty enough for you to be an Elf-prince_

_**robin hood:** _ _and how come you didn’t give Nat a nickname?_

_**JB:** _ _because I’m not THAT dumb. I like breathing, thankyouverymuch_

_**not batman:** _ _the fuck you all up so early for?_

_**not batman:** _ _really, barnes? ‘not batman’_

_**JB:** _ _you have an ego the size of your bank account. everyone knows who you are. you don’t hide your identity. but you are a gazillionaire who beats people up wearing fancy suits that you designed yourself. Ergo, Not Batman._

_**captain dumbass:** _ _...I mean, he’s not wrong, Tony._

_**captain dumbass:** _ _*sigh*...you’re lucky I love you, Bucky._

_**not batman:** _ _I’m smarter than Bruce Wayne. I’m still offended._

_**N** _ _: you’ll survive, tony_

_**dr phil:** _ _i am never drinking with you assholes again_

_**dr phil:** _ _fuck off, barnes_

_**murder kitten:** _ _love you too, sammy_

_**murder kitten** _ _: WHAT THE FUCK, STEVE?!?!?!_

Steve snorts from where he’s sitting behind the bar, sketch book open on the glass counter top before him.

“Punk,” Bucky grumbles, and resumes straightening up the room

Over the next two hours everyone straggles into the room, grumbling at Bucky until he shoves plates of food and massive mugs of coffee into their hands—and provides Natasha with a never-ending supply of her promised bloody mary.

It was about an hour later when Thor finally came into the common room, still rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“Is there coffee? Please tell me there is coffee. I broke my machine.”

“Aw, man, again?” Clint asked, magically appearing at Thor’s side with a mug.

“I have to admit, I have grown quite fond of this drink in my time here on Earth. Jane’s friend Darcy drinks an alarming amount of the stuff, however.”

“That girl does _not_ need excess caffeine in her system, dear god!” Clint exclaims. “What?” he asks, as several confused faces turn to him. “I’ve met her before. Selvig and I still talk from time to time.”

Bucky has no idea who they are talking about. But the others seem to, and they have a mixed bag of reactions to the news. They’re completely killing the mood in the room, as a matter of fact, and that just won’t do for Bucky. So he begins nonchalantly wandering about the room, picking things up and putting things away, since the cleaners haven’t been through yet. He suspects that Jarvis has something to do with that.

“How late did you guys stay up?” he asks, slowly making his way towards the bar.

“Well, unlike a couple of _old men_ who live in this tower, _some_ of us can hang,” Sam quips, tossing a throw pillow at him.

“So says the person doing the most whining about a hangover this morning,” he shoots back. “Which, by the way, _you’re welcome_ for the food and coffee to help with that.”

“Wait a minute, it was _your_ idea to have a party in the first place, and you two ducked out first!” Clint chimes in.

“And did you all have a good time?” he asks, arms spread, palms up, Barnes Charm turned up to eleven.

“It’s still not fair that you two look so _rested_ and the rest of us look like last week’s garbage.”

“Speak for yourself,” Natasha interrupts, taking a bite of the celery stalk sticking out of her hurricane glass.

“Natasha has a point. I do believe that the day _she_ looks exhausted or worn or beat down is the day that we all should be truly terrified. For an un-enhanced mortal, you are truly astonishing.”

“Yeah, well, that’s the Russians for you. They don’t believe in weakness.”

Bucky made a grunting noise in agreement as he rounded the bar.

“Amen, sister. Damn it’s a mess back here. You guys are a bunch of heathens when you’re drunk. Oh, hey, how’d this get here?” He stands, holding the fake Mjolnir up in front of him, turning it back and forth, studying it as he moves back in front of the bar. “What do these runes mean, anyway?”

Thor’s coffee mug shatters on the floor at his feet as he stares, open-mouthed and in shock, at Bucky.

“You know, I’ve never taken a good look at that. Can I see it?” Sam asks, and holds his arm out as Bucky tosses the hammer across the room.

A sound of pure distress comes from Thor as he watches Sam inspect Mjolnir.

“Hey, lemme see!” Clint says excitedly, and Sam passes it over to him.

“Guys, it’s just Thor’s hammer. You’ve all seen it before.” Steve, ever the voice of reason, pipes up from behind Bucky.

“Yeah, but have you ever really looked at it? The detail is so intricate.” Natasha takes it from Clint’s hands and tosses it to Steve, who wasn’t ready and fumbles the catch because he only has one hand free, the other is in his pocket or something, but it’s definitely not on the bar. The hammer falls behind him and Steve bends to retrieve it.

“Seriously, guys. Stop messing around and give it back to Thor. Here, Buck.”

Bucky turns just in time to see the hammer flying at him, and reaches out reflexively to grab it with his right arm.

His right arm, which damn near rips out of the socket as he’s pulled to the ground by what feels like the weight of several hundred Sherman tanks.

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry sweetheart. Did I toss you the wrong one? My mistake.” Steve holds his arm out and the hammer is wrenched from Bucky’s hand. He stares as Steve catches it and holds it up. “I meant to toss this fake one that we made.”

“ _What the fuck?_ ”

Steve is grinning, ear-to-ear, and Bucky knows, instantly, that this little shit had fucking _planned this too,_ this punk who hadn’t wanted to join in this particular prank, has just pulled one off on Bucky—except it wasn’t a prank.

This shit was fucking real.

Steve is standing there, holding _both goddamned hammers_ , and that means one of them is the fucking _real one_ , and suddenly his eyes are glowing, the blue intensified and electric, and Bucky can see little lines of static, blue-white light dancing along the back of Steve’s hand, curling around his wrist, and up his arm.

Everyone is talking at once, all of them incredulous, stunned, but all Bucky can process is how much he needs to fuck Steve through the mattress _right now_.

Bucky grabs the arm holding the real hammer and gasps as he feels the hair on his body raise in response. Steve moves as though he’s going to set it down as Bucky drags him from the room.

“Don’t you fucking _dare_ put that down,” he growls. They pass alongside Thor and Bucky spares him a glance, “You can have this back in a few hours.”

“Steve?” Thor sounds uncertain.

“It’ll be okay. Just give me a few minutes. I promise.”

The elevator doors aren’t even closed before Bucky slams Steve up against the wall and pins him there. Bucky’s entire body hums, tingles pleasantly from the power running through Steve and into him.

“Fuck, are you fucking kidding me? Is it my birthday already?”

“Buck?”

Bucky grinds against Steve.

“I’m going to fuck you senseless. And _then_ we can talk about this.”

Steve gasps and Bucky takes the opportunity to shove his tongue in Steve’s mouth, kissing him for all he’s worth, all his cave-man hindbrain instincts screaming _fuck-keep-MINE_.

“Bucky, Bucky, _Buck_ _wait_ I have to give it back!” Much to Bucky’s dismay—because that thing had felt like the world’s—hell, the _universe’s—_ best sex toy and he’d really hoped to play around with that—Steve dropped Mjolnir in the elevator as Bucky dragged him from it.

“Gotta fucking be you. Of course it’s you out of everyone. Always knew. Always said you were the best goddamned person on this planet.”

Bucky is pulling clothes off as he guides Steve to the bedroom.

“Bucky, what...?”

“Get your goddamned clothes _off_ , Rogers!”

“Jesus, Buck, if I’d known you’d react like this I woulda told you a hell of a lot sooner.”

Bucky is on Steve the moment he’s naked, pressing their bodies together as he licks into Steve’s mouth once more before biting a stinging trail down his chest, until Bucky is on his knees with Steve’s cock in his mouth.

“Bucky!” Steve cries, fisting a hand tightly in his hair, and Bucky doesn’t even care that he’s fucking up the perfect half-bun that he’d managed that morning. He swallows Steve down to the base, burying his nose in the musky scent that collects in the thatch of hair there, then hollows his cheeks and sucks as hard as he can on the slide back up.

“Jesus _Christ_ Bucky, your fucking mouth, swear to god it should be illegal to be so good at sucking cock, _fucking hell.”_ Steve moves with him, one hand still in his hair, the other cupped around the back of his neck as he fucks into Bucky’s mouth, relentless, taking everything that Bucky has to give. Bucky’s own hands are busy as well, right hand wrapped around his own cock and jerking furiously, while his left arm is wrapped around Steve’s hip, hand between his cheeks, spreading them wide, fingers toying at Steve’s hole. He makes himself come before Steve does, catches as much of it as he can in his hand, and then reaches up to smear it over the tight ring of Steve’s anus, lubing his fingers with his own come, driving two of them in to unerringly press against his prostate.

“Fuck, did you just— _hnnggh_ , Jesus, you filthy fuck, oh my god, yes, there, again, harder— _fuck, Bucky!_ ” Steve comes with a hoarse cry as he rams his cock down Bucky’s throat, and all he can do is swallow reflexively, moaning with his own pleasure as Steve pulses against his tongue.

“You filthy bastard,” Steve says, once he’s caught his breath.

“You fucking loved it, so who’s the filthy one here, sweetheart?” Bucky asks, rising to his feet. “Wonder what they’d all think, if they knew just how kinky you are. The virtuous Captain America, who’s able to wield _Thor’s fucking hammer_ , loses his load whenever I stick my metal hand in his ass.”

“You haven’t stuck the whole thing in my ass, jerk.”

“That can be arranged, though.”

Steve’s breath falters, and his pupils dilate. Bucky smirks and cocks an eyebrow.

“On the bed, babydoll.”

“Bucky...”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. Not gonna do that today. Told you I was gonna fuck you senseless and I plan to do that with my cock.” He grabs lube as he speaks, pulls two bottles from the drawer of the night stand and tosses them onto the bed.

“And what if I want to push _you_ into the mattress?”

Bucky remains silent, stares at Steve with one eyebrow cocked.

“Yeah, okay, I know. I like teasing you when you’re this worked up.”

“You wanna keep runnin’ your mouth and see where it gets you, by all means, go ahead, sweetheart. Because after that stunt you pulled? That ass is mine.”

To emphasize his point he pushes Steve back and follows him onto the bed, grabs his hips and flips him so he’s on his stomach.

“How long?” he asks, grinding his cock along the cleft of Steve’s ass.

“What?”

“How long have you been keeping that secret?”

“Oh. Um, a few months? We found out by accident when he came back. We were sp-sparring upstate one night— _fuck_.” He releases a shaky breath as Bucky drives his tongue inside him.

“Hmm. So, one for each month then, before I fuck you, sounds good.”

“One for...one what?”

Bucky gets some lube on his palm and wraps his hand around Steve’s cock, working him back to full hardness. He hooks a metal finger in him, stretching his hole open as he drives his tongue in, licking and sucking and nipping until Steve is a writhing mess in his hands, the sheets beneath them already filthy from two more releases.

“Bucky, Bucky, _please_ , you said—you said three, stop, please, your cock, please...”

Bucky only laughs as he pulls back and jams three fingers inside Steve.

“I said three, yes. Did you think I was counting that suck job? Because I wasn’t.”

“Fuck, Bucky, I can’t, can’t take it, please, please!”

Bucky sinks his teeth into the perfect globe of Steve’s ass.

“Oh we both know you _can_ , though, babydoll. You want my cock in your ass? Then you gotta come for me again. It’s your own fault, you know. Keeping something like that a secret from me an’ the rest of the team. I gotta make sure you learn your lesson properly. Make sure you understand.” His hands are relentless, one tugging and twisting, one fucking into him and applying constant pressure to his prostate. He feels the trembling build as Steve gets closer, and then he’s clenching around Bucky’s fingers, spilling over his hand and adding to the mess beneath him.

“Good boy,” he says, and Steve whimpers when he pulls his hands away. “Shh,” he soothes. “I’ve got you, sweetheart.” Bucky pours lube directly onto Steve and rubs his hand through it, dipping into Steve’s hole before slicking himself up and driving in, seating himself fully in one thrust. The sound that escapes Steve’s mouth threatens to make Bucky come right then.

“Fuck, yes, yes,” Steve moans, pushing back. Bucky digs his hands into Steve’s hips and rocks into him, grinding deep.

“God, baby, I’m gonna wreck you. Can’t even tell you how fucking hot you looked holding that thing. Christ, I can’t believe you’re mine.” He pulls back, until he’s barely inside, and drives forward, Steve’s body sliding forward with the force of it as he catches himself on his arms, braces and pushes back. After that, Bucky sets a brutal pace, chasing his own release, his need too great for gentleness just yet. He comes and stills for just a moment, waiting for the last twitches of his cock before he changes their positions.

Bucky holds Steve with one arm around his waist and tugs him up, pulling his back flush to Bucky’s chest as he sits back on his heels. Steve settles his legs on the outside of Bucky’s and whimpers as Bucky rolls his hips.

“Look at that, baby. Feel this.” He catches Steve’s hand in his and presses it to Steve’s abdomen, over the line of Bucky’s cock. “Look at that, look at me inside you. You feel that baby?” He shifts his hands to Steve’s hips and lifts him, pulls him back down, makes him ride his cock, all the while watching the way his cock pushes against Steve’s hand on his stomach. “Remember how that used to look? Used to feel, when you where all of ninety pounds? Damn near knocked the breath outta you a few times doing it this way.”

Steve whines, and his arm wrapped up behind Bucky’s head tightens around him. Bucky mouths at his exposed neck.

“Love seeing myself inside you, making you feel good. You gonna come again for me, sweetheart? Come on my cock? Go ahead, babydoll. Ride me. Fuck me til you come again.”

Bucky drops his hands and braces his arms behind him, leaning back so Steve can take over. Steve holds Bucky’s waist and begins lifting himself and then working back down as Bucky watches himself disappearing to Steve’s ass over and over.

“Fuck, Bucky, _Bucky_ ,” Steve keens, drawing out Bucky’s name.

“Go ahead, babydoll. Let it out. Ain’t gotta be quiet no more. Not like when we were kids, or hidin’ out during the war. I wanna hear it.”

Steve’s cries get louder as he bounces on Bucky’s lap, and Bucky is _thrilled_ to learn that his suspicions are true and that Steve is, in fact, a screamer. Steve comes again, clenches around Bucky, and then does this little _wiggle_ that somehow seats him further onto Bucky’s cock and Bucky loses it, pulses up into Steve, flooding his belly.

“There’s two, babydoll,” Bucky breathes, teeth grazing the shell of Steve’s ear. “What’s the saying? It’s not the quantity but the quality? We both know how many times you and I can go. But I’m thinking if I fill you one more time you should be good.”

“You—fuck, that was your third though, shit, I know you’re not counting the—but, but...”

“Mm-hmm. Glad to know you’re still aware enough to follow along. Guess that means I’ll have to work harder.” Bucky rolls his hips and Steve whines, trembling in his arms.

“Oh god, no, please, let me—please, Buck, let me turn...”

“Nope.”

Steve shakes, and Bucky knows he’s on fire from the overstimulation, but he also knows that Steve can handle it, or he wouldn’t keep going like this. But Steve _isn’t_ ninety pounds fully clothed and soaking wet anymore, he’s a goddamned two hundred and fifty pound tank, and no matter what Bucky says or wants to do, this is a stressful position on his body, and he can’t hold Steve like this for much longer before his own legs will make the switch from uncomfortable to overloaded.

“How’s this pretty cock of yours feeling, hmm, sweetheart?”

Bucky slicks his hand with more lube— _these sheets are gonna have to just go right in the garbage after this_ , he thinks—and strokes Steve firmly, just barely on the right side of pressure, in time with the deep, slow rolls of his cock in Steve’s ass.

Steve’s head thrashes on Bucky’s shoulder, his fingers dig in to the backs of Bucky’s thighs where he holds on for dear life.

“One more, babydoll, and we’ll move. One more, and I’ll go nice and sweet on you, put you on your back and love you for the amazing fucking being that you are, love you until I can’t move anymore. How’s that sound?” He nibbles and sucks at Steve’s neck, licks over the spot that always turns Steve into goo. “Wish I could mark you up good and proper, that they’d stay for days for everyone to see, everyone to know you’re mine, now that we don’t have to hide it.”

Steve makes a sound of agreement, and lifts a hand from its vice grip on Bucky’s leg to wrap it around Bucky’s left arm where he’s holding Steve around the waist. Their fingers twine together.

“Maybe I just mark up this hand then, hmm? Claim you for real and for all time.”

Steve’s body, so pliant and loose and warm around him, goes stiff.

“James Buchanan Barnes. If that’s your idea of a proposal, I’ll have you know I expected more of you.”

“And what would you have had me do, babydoll?”

“You’re a fucking sap. We both know it. I expected a fancy dinner. Candles. Romance.”

“You sayin’ that me askin’ while my dick is in you isn’t good enough for you?”

Steve’s breath trembles out of him and he separates their bodies, turns around so that they’re kneeling face to face in the middle of the bed. His eyes search Bucky’s, pupils no longer dilated wide with lust, but the clear, earnest blue of summer days long-forgotten by the advancement of the world.

“You’re serious.”

“I am. I didn’t really mean to ask you now, here, like this. I...I do have a ring for you. In my stuff. At the house.”

“You...but we...we weren’t...” And Steve, always the first to speak up when something isn’t right, always the one to stir everyone with ridiculous speeches, simply stares at him, dumbstruck, at a loss for words.

“Stevie, it’s always been you. I’d have married you before the war if that kind of thing had been allowed. But all the phone calls, the emails, everything before your stupid ass got caught—we both know we were gonna end up like this sooner than later. I never gave up on you, on _us_ , and I know you didn’t either. And yeah, okay, so we’re both fucked up in the head, but that don’t change our hearts. You and I, we’ve always been better, stronger, together. We’ll fix what’s wrong. But this world, nowadays? It ain’t just HYDRA comin’ after us. It’s giant space whales and shit comin’ outta the sky now. It’s gods from other planets, other fuckin’ _solar systems_. So I’m gonna grab you and hold onto you for as long as I can and not have to hide you away, because I ain’t one bit ashamed of being seen with you.”

By the time he stops to catch his breath, tears are running freely down Steve’s cheeks to disappear into his beard.

“So I’m going to ask you this again, now, the right way, even though we’re bare assed and in the middle of this filthy bed, and I ain’t got the ring with me, and fuck I ain’t even got official legal status with the government yet, and we ain’t in some fancy restaurant or on a carriage ride through the park or whatever other Hallmark channel nonsense you got into that head of yours.”

Bucky reaches down to grab Steve’s hands in his, and meets his eyes.

“Steven Grant Rogers, will you marry me?”


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little different from the others--there's some time jumps in it, and also some tying up of loose ends, because I had to set up for the final chapter. My betas assured me that it was good, so I hope you enjoy it!

Warm breath, followed by soft lips and the teasing feathery touch of hair, trail down his stomach, waking Steve slowly.

“Buck?” he asks, voice rough. “Wha— _oh._ ” Bucky mouths gently at Steve’s cock, which is waking up faster than his brain.

“S’matter, babydoll, I can’t show my fiance how much I love him?”

Warmth suffuses Steve at the words—and has nothing at all to do with the way Bucky is kissing, nipping, sucking, and licking all around his cock, his thighs, and his balls.

 _Fiance_. He opens his eyes a fraction and eyes the band of gold circling the third finger of his left hand. Of course he’d said yes, once he’d stopped sobbing. He still has trouble believing it’s real, even as he sees the confirmation of it on his hand. Tiny diamond chips run in a line down the middle. He spins the ring with his thumb, watching the refraction of sunlight cast hundreds of tiny rainbows across the room.

His distraction earns him a none-too-gentle scraping of teeth along his shaft.

“Am I boring you here, sweetheart?” The amusement in Bucky’s tone gives him away though, and his eyes shine with joy as he watches Steve play with the ring.

“Sorry,” Steve says with a grin, and reaches down to thread his fingers through Bucky’s hair. Bucky catches his hand and presses a soft kiss over the ring.

“Never thought we’d see the day I could make an honest man outta you, Stevie.”

Steve snorts. “Don’t think I’d look all that good in a dress now. I ain’t got the build for that anymore.”

“Mmm, perhaps not,” Bucky muses. “But you got the rack to support it now, at least.”

Steve swats at Bucky in mock indignation.

“Better be careful there, babydoll. My mouth’s awful close to a sensitive area.”

“Then maybe you should put somethin’ in it so you stop sayin’ stupid shit.”

Bucky’s response is to swallow Steve down, taking him to the hilt in one go.

“Shit!” Steve cries, back arching off the bed as his head fall into the pillow. Steve’s hands are at his sides and Bucky reaches out with both of his to take them, twining their fingers together as he continues to bob his head over Steve’s cock. It’s over embarrassingly quickly—between it being the first orgasm of the day and Bucky’s obscenely skilled mouth, Steve is tightening his grip on Bucky in no time and fighting to not thrust up into him as he spills down his throat.

“Breakfast of champions,” Bucky says with a grin before kissing his way back up Steve’s stomach to settle on his chest.

“I still can’t believe you picked me. Then or now. I’m nothing compared to you.”

“You were everything, Stevie. You still are.”

They settle into a comfortable silence, and Bucky’s breathing evens out and deepens. Steve’s mind drifts as he plays with the ring, still in awe of it all.

… _“You really want to marry me? After everything?”_

_“Who else is gonna put up with your shit?”_

_“Bucky...”_

_“Steve. Are you really going to turn this into an ordeal? After I just poured my heart out to you the way I did? Can you just stop crying and give me a straight answer?”_

_Steve lunged forward, crushing their mouths together, his tears dampening Bucky’s cheeks as well._

_“Of course I’ll marry you, you big jerk.” ..._

“You keep playin’ with it and it’ll fall off, you know.”

Steve chuckles and leans down to kiss the top of Bucky’s head.

“It’s just so amazing and perfect. I can’t believe you had it made for me.”

“You deserve more than somethin’ out of a storefront, Stevie.”

“I’m sorry I never went to visit her. I knew she was alive, but I just couldn’t...it hurt so much, the thought of seeing her and not seeing you, you know?”

“Well, now I can bring you to her as my fiance.”

“Did you know that she’d have the rings?”

“I thought it was a good shot.”

“What did you tell her?” Steve hadn’t had the courage or the heart the previous night to ask Bucky for details about Becca. He hadn’t wanted to spoil the mood of Bucky giving him the ring—which he’d done the moment they’d returned to the safe house _._

_Steve turned from setting down his bags—he’d brought a good amount of things from his room in the tower with him—to see Bucky standing there holding a small jewelry box, clearly nervous. He’s looking down at the ring displayed there, one finger gently stroking the band, chewing on his bottom lip._

_“Buck?” Steve asked softly, and stepped closer, placing one hand comfortingly on Bucky’s elbow. Bucky took a deep breath and lifted his head, unshed tears shining in his eyes._

_“I had this special made for you, Stevie. It’s from my parents’ rings. My pa always had big hands, remember? So I figured it’d probably fit you. The stones were in my ma’s ring, and I had them set into the band.”_

_He turned the box around and Steve’s breath caught at the gorgeous simplicity of the ring._

_“Bucky, this is beautiful. It’s amazing. How did you get them?” He wrapped his free hand around Bucky’s and the box in his hands._

_“I’ve been visiting Becca. When I finally worked up the courage to tell her about us, she told me she had them, asked me if we was finally gonna get ‘proper married’ now.”_

_Steve laughed._

_“She always did know more than she let on. I had a feeling she knew what we were up to.”_

_Bucky pulled the ring from the box._

_“There’s an engraving on the inside, too.” He tilted it so that Steve could see the words ‘til the end of the line’ etched in fine cursive, and Steve finally lost control of his tears._

_“I love you, James Buchanan Barnes.”_

_“I love you too, punk,” Bucky said, slipping the ring onto Steve’s finger._

Bucky sighs heavily.

“Well, she’s in her eighties, but she ain’t lost her mind yet. I told her as little as I could, didn’t want to upset her. Basically I said that the Russians did something similar to me as what the SSR had done to you, and then they kept me frozen when they didn’t need me to fight, but they’d messed with my mind, and I didn’t know who I was til the Avengers found me.”

“Well, it’s not exactly wrong.”

They fall back into silence, Steve running his hand idly through Bucky’s hair.

“We’ll have to have Tony make a ring for you that can go on your hand.”

“Stevie, it don’t matter to me which hand you put it on. I can wear it on my right. People without left arms get married.”

Steve chuckles. “Can we ask him anyway? If only just to see his face?”

“We gotta tell them all at the same time. Nat will probably kill us if she finds out Stark knew before her.”

“Hmm, good point.”

“Well, I always was the smart one.”

Steve just smiles, and then smacks his free hand over his face with a groan when a thought occurs to him.

“Shit. You know we’re not going to be able to keep this small, right? Not with Tony.”

“Don’t you worry, babydoll. I’ll handle Tony.”

*****

With the aid of the photostatic veils once more, they visit a small local jeweler to have a ring made for Bucky. Steve insists on going to the same one where Bucky had Steve’s made. In the end, a week after Bucky put a ring on Steve’s hand, Steve is able to slide one onto Bucky’s. Steve doesn’t even wait until they’re home, just turns to look at him with tears in his eyes and his heart in his throat, and Bucky was powerless to do anything besides nod and hold out his hand.

The elderly man behind the counter asked if they wanted a picture, and Bucky instantly agrees, handing over his phone.

“Oh, wait, our faces!” Steve cries, and pulls his mask off. The man gasps.

“You can’t tell anyone, do you understand?” Bucky growls.

“Not until it’s made public,” Steve rushes to add, with a sidelong glance at him. “If you want. But understand, if we say where we got them, you’ll be swarmed with requests for interviews. And customers. And—and probably threats, too.”

The man looks at Steve with wonder in his eyes, but his body language is one of sadness.

“Son, I’ve lived through your legacy. You may have been a national hero, but in my house, you were a _legend._ The country loved you. Brooklyn _worshipped_ you. My father was your neighbor when you were kids, but you were younger than him, I doubt you’d remember him. I don’t know how _you’re_ here,” he said, looking directly at Bucky and wagging a leathery finger at him, “but I know your face too. And if there’s one thing I know, it’s that you boys earned your right to a bit of peace and happiness.” He gave a pointed look at Bucky’s left arm, at the prosthetic hand. “I’m too old to be bothered with all that attention. You don’t have to worry about me saying anything. Now smile.”

After Steve argues with the man for several minutes, they finally leave the shop without having to pay for Bucky’s ring, several pictures of themselves on Bucky’s phone and one selfie of the three of them on the man’s phone. Masks back on, they’re sitting outside a small sandwich shop eating lunch before going to the tower for Bucky’s therapy appointment. Bucky scrolls through the pictures the man had taken for them, trying to decide on the best one.

“How about this one, sweetheart?” he asks, turning the phone so Steve can see.

“For what?”

Bucky grins. After a few seconds, Steve groans.

“You’re going to send a group text, aren’t you?”

“Well, Nat is in...shit, Morocco I think? Tony is out doing something top secret with Rhodey, so probably they’re at Area 51 or somewhere equally absurd. Bruce is in D.C.? Sam, Clint, and Thor are up there—,” he gestures with his drink towards the tower in the distance, “and if you think that we can avoid Sam for another week, you’re nuts.”

Steve sighs, the heavy, resigned sigh that only Bucky ever seems to get, because Steve _hates_ to admit when he’s wrong, and Bucky is the one person who can call Steve out more than anyone else alive.

“I love you, babydoll.”

“It is a good picture,” Steve grumbles, angrily stabbing at his salad.

Bucky laughs and brings up the group chat.

_**[image attached]** _

_**jb:** so how does one go about planning a wedding these days?_

_**Fury:** Your government issued phone and this chat were not intended for this kind of use. You’re not even a full citizen at the moment._

“Damn, that was fast,” Steve comments.

_**jb:** that hurts, Nick. aren’t you technically dead too? don’t pretend that you don’t know my hearing is next week. Stark has great lawyers. also, who added you to this chat?_

“Bucky, don’t antagonize Nick.”

_**Pepper:** Congrats! So happy for you guys! Let me know if I can do anything to help._

_**Bruce:** congratulations guys_

_**Sam:** now that’s what I’m talking about! wtg, guys_

_**Nat:** who’s wearing the dress?_

_**Tony:** what the shit? The grandpas are getting married? Before me? Fuck. Thanks, Barnes. Now I really look like a jerk._

Steve chuckles.

_**Steve:** you don’t need our help with that, Tony._

_**Clint:** aww, that’s great guys!_

_**jb:** @nat – we all know I have the better hair, but he’s got the hips for it_

_**Clint:** Thor says, and I swear to you I am quoting him exactly on this: “This ismost excellent news! Also, I have been told that the hips do not lie. Steve will look beautiful, I am quite certain.”_

Bucky chokes on his iced coffee, while across the table Steve’s face and neck turn a lovely shade of crimson.

*****

“I shouldn’t even be giving you these. You don’t have a license. You literally _just_ got all your rights back _this morning_.” Tony spun away from Bucky, pulling his arm back as if he was struck with a sudden sense of responsibility.

“Tony, you can’t tell me that you’re giving me the car as a, and I quote, ‘wedding-slash-congratulations on surviving the trial and welcome to the world of the free US citizens again’ gift, and then refuse to give me the keys.”

“Where’s Steve? He can drive,” Tony asks, looking around the garage.

“No the fuck he can’t! He can fly a Quinjet and he can drive a motorcycle, but have you ever actually ridden in a vehicle with him? If I hadn’t fallen from that train, his driving would have killed us before the war ended.”

“You’ve been letting him drive you around since you both moved out a few months ago.”

“In a fucking reinforced SHIELD-issued car that _you_ then modified further! _Jarvis_ drives us around, not him. I can’t tell you how many accidents we would have been in if it wasn’t for that. He is _not_ driving _my_ classic car that _you and I re-built,_ no matter how many technological advancements you added to it. You _know_ I can drive, and quite well, thank you. Gimme the damn keys!”

“Tony, seriously, he’s never going to let me behind the wheel. Just give him the keys, or drive it to the house yourself.”

Bucky says a silent prayer of thanks that Steve was actually on his side in this.

“If I find out that you two are banging like teenagers in the backseat, I’m taking it back.”

Bucky laughs. "Have you seen us? We're too big to both fit in the back seat."

"Well good. Keep it that way. You better not defile my creation."

Tony hands them the keys and they get in after tossing the last of Steve's boxes in the trunk and the shield in the back seat. As they pull out and into traffic, Steve gives Bucky a look.

"What, babydoll?"

"I know we're too big for sex, but I'm pretty sure I can manage some road head."

"What?" Bucky sputters. He's not familiar with the term, but he can suss out the meaning easily enough. What's more concerning is that Steve knows it to begin with.

Steve smirks as he starts to lean across the seat. "I can show you."

"Steve! For fuck's sake we're in afternoon traffic in Midtown! Get back!" Bucky tries to fend Steve off with one hand while simultaneously attempting to not smash into the car next to them. “I swear to God, if you cause an accident you’re sleeping at the tower tonight. I don’t even have my license yet, Steve. This is in Tony’s name, not mine.”

“You’re no fun,” Steve pouts, sitting back and crossing his arms.

“Jesus _Christ_ , Steve. You’re ridiculous. Fuck. At least wait until sometime when we’re not in plain sight. We’ll go for a drive upstate or somethin’ this weekend, okay?”

“Promise?”

“Wha—well, I mean, yeah. That doesn’t exactly sound like a terrible thing. It’s just not terribly smart right now.”

“I suppose,” Steve says sourly.

Bucky winks at Steve as they pull up to the house and into the garage. Steve is still sulking. Bucky’s not stupid, he definitely is interested in what Steve is offering. He just has a strong sense of self-preservation these days. Instead of getting out, he stretches his arm across the top of the seat and leans back.

“But it can’t hurt to practice ahead of time, now can it, sweetheart?”

Steve nearly throws himself across the bench seat and Bucky lets his head fall back, exhaling heavily when Steve’s mouth closes around his cock.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we made it!!! final chapter!!! I can't believe this is actually done now. This story is now officially the longest one I've written, even including the stuff I have yet to submit to my publisher. 
> 
> I have to give SO MUCH LOVE to my betas Gwenpools_aesthetic and The_Reverend, without whom we'd never have made it this far. Whether talking through plot lines and helping when I was completely stuck with a chapter, or last-minute readings of all this, they've been invaluable help.

_You know what we need._

Bucky gasps, jerks his head, refocuses on what he’s doing. He feels like he’s swimming through molasses as he claws his way to the forefront of his consciousness—just another sign of how monumentally fucked everything had gone these past two days.

He stands in the shower, scrubbing up extra carefully. He was home now, he shouldn’t still be in Soldier mode.

_Like half of us would be alive right now if you didn’t have me?_

_*Fuck off. Not complaining about that.*_

There’d been an attack, down in DC, and they’d successfully destroyed the robot army invasion and captured the crazed mastermind behind it, but there had been a lot of innocent casualties.

_He needs it too._

_*You think I don’t know that?*_

Too many casualties for either of them to be comfortable with, and when one of them got that kind of an itch under their skin, a solid super-soldier super-sex marathon was the only way to burn it out.

It hadn’t been their fault. Not even that J. Jonah Jameson fuck was reporting it as their fault. And if he and Steve hadn’t gotten to that monument when they had…well, it could have been a lot worse. But still. There was always that nagging feeling—that wish to have done more. To have _saved_ more. Bucky knew Steve felt it even worse than he did.

Not to mention that the emergency had _literally_ ruined their wedding day. All their plans, all the money, the security, the false leaks, the secrecy that had gone into it, had vanished into thin air when Jarvis had sounded the alarm in the early hours of the morning.

 _We can fix this._ I _can fix it for us._

_*I have to start it. You know he won’t agree if he thinks...*_

_Fucking boy scout._

Bucky grins, but there’s no humor in it. He hates that he wants this, _needs this_ , for a reason like this. That it’s not something they do just for fun. And he knows that Steve needs it, will be craving it as well, even if there’s too much martyr in him to acknowledge it. There had been previous missions where he’d needed Steve to take him out of his own head afterwards, but never after a clusterfuck like this had been. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees the crumbled buildings, the lifeless limbs, and hears the cries and screams of terror and pain and pleas for help.

He and Steve were the only ones who hadn’t slept or rested at all in the past two days, save for the short flight home. Bucky knew he could push himself for another thirty-six hours, and figured Steve had probably twenty-four left in him before they’d both crash and sleep for a solid eighteen or more.

After Bucky had officially joined the team following Steve’s capture on the bridge all those months ago, Bruce had created a modified version of Bucky’s “go-juice,” and he and Steve had both used multiple doses as the unenhanced members of the team started flagging during the fight and resulting clean-up. They were both too keyed up still on natural and manufactured adrenaline, among the myriad other things in the shots, to settle down or just completely drop from exhaustion the way everyone else had.

Bucky exits the shower and gives himself a cursory wipe-down. He needs to get to the bedroom before Steve. He knows he has only one chance to get this right. As he opens the door to their en-suite bathroom, he can hear the water still running in the main bathroom—they’d both been too covered in sweat, grime, dried blood, and god knew what else to want to share a shower—but he knows that Steve will be done soon. With quick, efficient movements, Bucky strips the comforter and top sheet from the bed, folding them and placing them to the side. He then flings the closet doors open wide and tosses a couple bottles of lube on the bed, followed by his favorite crop, some clamps, and a plug. They’d amassed enough toys that half their clothes were in a different room, because their closet was now a neatly organized and displayed collection of plugs, vibrators, crops, rope; anything and everything.

His hand falls on the magnacuffs he’d liberated from the tower. Despite the fact that he’d brought them here, they’d never used them, as Bucky had hesitated with feeling that powerless and controlled. He’d always been able to break out of anything they’d used up to this point. But he wants— _needs—_ to give everything up today. He doesn’t want to be so far gone that he can’t stop himself from breaking free, because he knows if he does, Steve will stop immediately and think something is wrong.

In the hallway, the bathroom door opens.

Heart jackhammering in his chest, Bucky spins and falls to his knees in front of the open closet, magnacuffs placed on the hardwood before him. He keeps his head down, hands soft on his thighs, offering and submitting himself completely.

Steve pauses in the doorway.

“Bucky?”

He can hear the strain, the uncertainty in Steve’s voice. He knows what he looks like, waiting for Steve like this. The longer the battle had gone on, the more the Soldier had taken over—out of necessity—and Steve is likely assessing the situation, wondering who is presenting themselves to him.

It happens, sometimes, when Steve is really taking Bucky out of his head. It’s not exactly a slip, _per se_ , since he and the Soldier are one and the same now. It’s more of a shift, a slight change in his thought patterns, his speech, his body language that comes and goes.

The first time, Steve had freaked right the fuck out, which had yanked Bucky out of subspace so fast it fucking _hurt,_ and even though he’d finally calmed him down and convinced Steve that he hadn’t done anything wrong, they’d never made it back into scene that night, and it’d been weeks before Steve had been willing to try again.

Now, when they really got into it, Steve seemed to work towards that with a fierce determination, embracing the shifts, almost seeking out the Soldier, as if he felt the need to push Bucky to the very edge of his limits. He’d explained to Steve that he was fully conscious, fully aware, but too overwhelmed in the best of ways to respond. And that’s where the Soldier took over, providing the answers and feedback that Steve needed. And Bucky fucking _loves_ it. He is free to just _feel_ and _float,_ and whatever he can’t remember afterwards, the Soldier does, so it's all good _._ Either way, everyone gets what they want.

“Please,” Bucky whispers now. “Please, Steve. Please make the voices stop.”

Steve falls to his knees in front of Bucky and cups his face, lifting his head, forcing their eyes to meet.

“You did nothing wrong. You did the best you could. You did as much as you could—more than anyone could have asked for.”

A small whine escapes Bucky’s throat.

“I can’t...make it stop. I can’t tune them out. I can’t sleep yet. _Please_ , Steve. Make them go away.”

Steve swallows heavily, takes a deep breath. Bucky can see the pain in Steve’s eyes, the haunted shadows behind them, and knows that it mirrors his own.

“Let me help you silence yours, too,” he says, just shy of pleading.

Steve’s eyes close and he presses their foreheads together.

“This is not a punishment.” Steve’s voice is raw with emotion, cracked like broken glass. “Not punishment,” he repeats.

Bucky grabs Steve’s shoulders, clings to them tightly, knowing this might be the last time he gets to touch him for a while and wanting to give him that reassurance.

“No,” he agrees, gently shaking his head. “Not punishment. Release. Let it all go. Get it out, so it doesn’t consume you. Consume _us_.”

Without warning, Steve’s mouth is on his, a violent clashing of teeth and lips and tongues.

“I love you,” Steve gasps when they finally separate. One hand still firm on the back of Bucky’s neck, he reaches down, trails his fingers over the magnacuffs.

“Are you sure about this?” Steve asks, looking back up to Bucky’s face.

“Yes.” He takes his hands from Steve’s body and holds his arms out between them, wrists together. “Please, Sir.”

Steve’s eyes briefly flutter closed and a full-body shudder runs through him.

When he opens them again, his pupils are dilated, the blue darkened to a deep ocean instead of the light summer sky.

“Jarvis,” Steve calls out.

After a slight pause, Jarvis answers. “Yes, Captain?”

“Please lock down the house. Unless this building is in imminent danger, we are not to be disturbed until one of us ends the lock. Understood?”

“Understood, Captain.”

“Soldier.”

Bucky blinks rapidly, trying to follow Steve’s train of thought, but his eyes never stray from Bucky’s. He tightens his grip on Bucky’s neck, and repeats himself.

“ _Soldier,_ ” he commands again, and Bucky feels the faint dizzy sensation, a sense of vertigo without the nausea, as the shift happens before he’s aware of it coming.

“ _Sir._ ”

“What are the rules?”

“ _Answer honestly when asked for a status. Speak if I feel the need to correct the situation, no matter how slight the issue may be. Do not remain silent if I am in pain beyond my limits, whether it be physical or emotional; your pleasure is derived from mine, as is your displeasure._ ”

“Very good,” Steve praises. “And how do you indicate a need to stop immediately?”

“ _Through the use of my safeword._ ”

“And that word is?”

“ _Cyclone_.”

Steve presses a kiss to his forehead.

“Excellent. I’d like Bucky on the bed, please.”

Bucky feels himself moving, rising from the floor and moving towards the bed.

“Kneeling, facing the pillows, hands behind your back.”

As he takes the requested position, he feels the Soldier settle at the back of his mind, alert and ready, waiting to be needed. Steve crawls onto the bed in front of him. He’s still wearing the boxers he’d put on after his shower, plain cotton in a solid navy blue. Bucky knows that by the time they come off, he’ll be well on his way to being gone, trusting in the Soldier to carry them through the session.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve says softly, a small smile on his face.

“Hey, Stevie.”

“You’re so good to me, sweetheart. Take such good care of me. And now you need me to take care of you, huh?” One hand cups the side of Bucky’s neck, calloused thumb stroking gently over his jaw, and Bucky leans into the caress. “You worked so hard, and just need some help to relax, right baby?”

“Please,” he breathes, and kisses Steve’s thumb when it brushes over his lips.

“Shh, I’ve got you, baby.” It’s an endearment that only comes out at times like this; Steve had never been one to let the pet names roll easily off his tongue the way Bucky was, and Bucky cherishes each utterance even more for that fact.

“Do you want these attached to the head board?” Steve holds up the cuffs. Bucky pauses, studies them, reminds himself where he is and who he is with.

“I trust your judgment, Sir.”

“So good,” Steve praises again, and Bucky warms at the words. “I think we’ll start out easy, since it’s our first time using them. See how you do, and go from there. Sound good?”

“Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.” It’s so nice to let Steve take over, to not have to think about anything for a while. To trust someone that much.

“Hands in front, sweetheart.”

Bucky does as asked, presents his hands to Steve once more. Cold metal closes around his right wrist. Sensors provide feedback of circling pressure on his left. Slowly, Steve brings his hands toward one another. The metal cuffs lock together with a clang, the power of the magnets pulling them together against the strength of Steve’s grip. Bucky exhales loudly.

“Give me a color, baby. How do you feel?”

He opens his eyes, unaware that he’d even closed them, and takes a deep breath. Steve’s thumbs are stroking the backs of his hands as he holds them. Bucky feels... _calm_.

“Green. So fucking green, Sir. Thank you, Sir.” His words are already slurred ever so slightly, as if the cuffs leeched the stress from him the moment they hooked together. He can feel the tight set of his shoulders relaxing, a pleasant heaviness settling over his limbs.

“Beautiful.” Steve smiles, leans in, and kisses Bucky, pulling back when it starts to grow heated. “Mmm, not yet, baby. Here, lean forward. Down on your elbows.”

Steve slides away and helps guide him into position.

“I see you put a few things on the bed. Would you like me to start with those, and then move on to items of my own choosing?”

“Anything you’d like, Sir.”

“So very good for me, baby.”

Bucky gasps when one of his nipples is pinched hard and twisted, Steve’s actions in harsh opposition to the soft praises pouring from his mouth. Cold lube startles him as it drips down between his cheeks. His other nipple receives treatment similar to the first one, while a finger softly teases and probes at his hole. The sensations are giving him whiplash, he can’t focus on one before another demands attention, and suddenly he’s aware of consistent pressure as Steve begins to fuck him with the plug.

“Look at this pretty hole just opening right up for me. ‘Course, we both know I’m bigger than this plug. But we gotta start you somewhere, right?” Steve pulls back and then _shoves_ the plug in fully. Bucky whines, rocking forward on his elbows, instinctively clenching as he tries to pull away from Steve. “Unh-uh,” Steve tsks, and hauls him back with two hands on his hips. “You stay where I put you, baby.”

“Sorry, Sir,” he forces out.

Steve’s hand lands on his ass, smacking the base of the plug.

“This is _my_ hole now. Are you going to take away that which you gave me?”

“No, Sir. Sorry, Sir,” Bucky gasps.

“Do I need to tie you in place?”

Bucky moans.

“I know, baby. You always look so pretty, all wrapped up for me.” Steve’s hands knead Bucky’s ass firmly, almost to the point of pain, as he speaks. “But that’s not going to happen. Neither of us has that kind of patience today, now do we? I could get the spreader, but I think it’ll get in my way. I’m gonna fill this hole up today, baby. You want that? You want me to make you a sloppy mess, have me running down your thighs all night long?”

Steve’s hand squeezes Bucky’s cock.

“Yeah, you want that. Look how fast this little cock of yours got hard when I started talking about it. You think you can keep up with me? Hm? You want to go load for load? I won’t be helping you, baby. My hands are gonna be busy marking you up.”

Bucky whimpers, buries his face in the mattress as he pushes his ass back against Steve’s grip.

“Words, baby.”

“ _Yes_ , Sir. _Please,_ Sir. Want it. Use me. Fill me. Mark me.”

Steve _growls_ as he yanks the plug out suddenly, roughly, and mercilessly drives his cock in.

“So fucking _greedy_ for me. Can’t even wait, can you? Can’t settle ‘til you’ve got a load in your ass, is that it? Or is it that you don’t even care about my plans? You think that I don’t know what you need? That I can’t take care of you? That you know best? All these years I’ve been keeping you in line, and _now_ you think you know better than me?”

Steve’s thrusts are violent as he slams his hips against Bucky while he speaks, just the right side of painful as he fucks Bucky with barely any lube and even less prep. The plug had been a warm-up, nowhere near the size of Steve’s cock, just something for him to clench around while Steve marked him with hands and crop and paddle.

Bucky feels a hand slide up his back and into his hair. It’s the shortest it’s been since he’d broken free of HYDRA, just barely brushing his shoulders. He keeps thinking he’ll cut it shorter, like he wore it during the war, and then Steve will wrap a fist or two into it and just _manhandle_ him by his hair and Bucky remembers why he keeps it longer. At the moment, Steve seems to be using it as an anchor to keep Bucky’s body firmly in place as he impossibly manages to increase his pace yet again.

“This what you think you want? Huh? Me splitting you open on my cock, with nothing pretty to look at here? No bruises, no marks, no signs of the painstaking care I take th you to make sure you feel good, make sure you’re ready for me?”

Steve’s free hand digs into the curve of Bucky’s ass, fingernails biting in painfully, until Bucky is sure that they’ve split the skin.

"Steve!” he gasps. “ _Sir_ , please!”

“You wanted this, baby. Remember that.” Warmth enveloped him as Steve curled over Bucky’s back, hand still in his hair. “Time to come, sweetheart. Maybe that’ll help you listen, make you more _compliant_ with my plans.” Steve hissed the word in Bucky’s ear as his free hand wrapped around Bucky’s cock, working him in time with his thrusts, using only the pre-come leaking from him to ease the slide of his rough palm over Bucky’s shaft.

As if the words flipped a switch inside his head, Bucky comes. His hands fist the sheet beneath him as he cries out, body tensing as Steve doesn’t let up. He fucks Bucky through the orgasm, continues stroking his cock through the sensitivity and his pleas, until at last Steve comes with a groan, teeth digging into Bucky’s shoulder, the hand iTn his hair pulling his head back in an awkward angle. The hand around his cock squeezes tight, all while Steve’s cock pulses endlessly inside Bucky.

“That what you were looking for? Huh? Is it my turn now?”

Steve lets go of him abruptly, pulls out, and Bucky has only half a second to process the movement before the plug is shoved back into him.

“Since you wanted that come so bad, couldn’t wait for it, you can fucking keep it all in there while I give you what you _really_ need.”

Bucky draws in a shaky breath that he immediately releases in a startled cry when the crack of leather striping his ass fills the room.

“Thank me for being so nice to you!” Steve commands.

“I’m sorry, Sir! Thank you, Sir!”

Several more blows land across his ass and thighs, and Bucky is finding it difficult to hold position with his hands in the cuffs and him down on his elbows.

Steve clucks his tongue and sighs. It’s his ‘Captain America is disappointed in you’ sigh and _fuck_ it draws a whine from Bucky.

“Please, please Sir, I’m sorry, I’ll do better.”

“I wish I could believe that.”

The bed shifts and suddenly Steve is gone, and Bucky can hear him in the closet. It becomes clear to Bucky that Steve had planned for this from the moment he’d put him on the bed instead of the bench because he finds what he’s looking for almost instantly and is back before Bucky has fully processed the implications behind that.

“Okay, on your back. Let’s see if I can help you be good for me.”

Steve has a few items in his hands. The first thing he takes is a section of rope that he loops around Bucky’s wrists and uses it to pull his arms up and tie them to the headboard. It’s nothing that he can’t get out of if he really tries—after all, he’s snapped ropes in the past unintentionally—but Steve hasn’t unhooked the magnacuffs, which tells Bucky that Steve wants him to remain restrained even if he does break the rope. Bucky opens his hands and wraps them around the reinforced bars of the headboard to ground himself.

Steve stands next to the bed, eyeing Bucky, and his hand slides down Bucky’s body in a light caress. Bucky knows better, at least he should by now, but when the slap hits his inner thigh he still gasps, caught by surprise.

“My baby tried so hard, but you need more, don’t you? Need to give up everything to me today, is that it?”

“ _Please, Sir,_ ” he agrees, but it’s not Bucky speaking, it’s the Soldier.

“You did a damn good job, Soldier. Is this the reward you want?”

“ _Yes, Sir. Please, Sir. It is what we need._ ”

Steve’s nostrils flare as he inhales deeply, the only outward sign that gives away how much he wants this as well—besides, of course, his rock hard cock. He looks down at the leather bindings he’d brought out and seems to pause as he considers them.

“How is your knee?”

Bucky had dislocated it at one point during the mission when he’d had to jump from a falling building. He’d popped it back into place, wrapped his pants tightly with some duct tape, and taken a fun-time shot to overcome the pain and accelerate healing of the torn ligaments and tendons.

“ _Sore, but healed. Any discomfort can easily be ignored for a period of restraint if I am to remain non-weight-bearing on the binding._ ”

Steve nods as his thumb strokes gently over the kneecap of the leg in question.

“Thank you. I would like to do it this way right now, so it’s not too tight. Next time, baby, I’ll use the ropes. Tie you up so pretty and draw you. How does that sound?”

Bucky moans, arches his back, chases Steve’s retreating hands. Steve chuckles as he climbs back onto the bed between Bucky’s legs.

Wide leather bands are buckled on his thighs, one just below mid-thigh, the other higher up. Each leg is then bent, and Steve attaches straps to his calves and ankles, hooking them to the bands on his thighs.

“Still good? Give me a color baby,” he asks, pressing a kiss to Bucky’s injured knee.

“Green,” he breathes. “It’s good, sweetheart.”

Bucky prefers the rope for restraints, not because they’re easy for him to break, but for the all-encompassing nature of the bindings. Steve initially thought the rope would be too much for Bucky because he’d have even less freedom of movement, until Bucky explained why he always asked for the rope. Cuffs and chains sometimes remind the Soldier too much of HYDRA and the way they’d restrain him. But when Steve painstakingly and lovingly wraps his body with the silk ropes—the same shade of blue as Steve’s uniform, no less—it makes Bucky feel cherished and safe. The patterns are a work of art, each twist and knot placed to create the perfect amount of stimulation. He is completely Steve’s in that moment. And the way Steve looks at him when he’s done is better than any drug.

Steve stalks up Bucky’s torso until he reaches his chest, where he stops to suck and bite at a nipple, bringing it to a stiff peak. When he lifts his head, it’s to tug almost painfully at the nipple, pulling it taut between his thumb and forefinger, and then attach a clamp. The process is repeated on the other side and Bucky squirms, cock twitching between them.

“Need something, baby?” Steve taunts before he kisses him, cutting off any chance of reply. He presses his body against Bucky’s and rolls his hips, sliding their cocks together. Bucky makes a desperate sound and does his best to thrust up against Steve.

“Hmm. Open up, baby. Drop those knees off to the side for me.” Steve rises to his own knees and reaches for the lube, which is not what Bucky had been expecting, but he wasn’t the one in charge, so that was fine. He pours a generous amount into his palm, and after clicking the top closed, he drags three fingers through the pile. Bucky watches as Steve reaches those fingers behind himself while his other hand closes around Bucky’s cock.

“Fuck,” Bucky hisses. He closes his eyes and drops his head back, grip tightening on the headboard. “Steve, Sir, please…”

“I can’t help myself, baby. You look so nice like this, a gift just for me. Don’t I get to enjoy my gift?”

Bucky groans.

“Answer me!” Steve demands, removing his hand from Bucky’s cock to tweak on one of the nipple clamps.

“ _Sorry Sir. Yes, Sir. Please use me for your pleasure however you see fit._ ”

“Better.”

Steve gives one last stroke on Bucky’s cock before he removes the hand he’d been using to open himself up with, and moves to straddle Bucky’s hips, pressing Bucky’s legs down with his own as he sits on Bucky’s cock, taking him to the root in one long push.

_Fuck fuck fuck fuck I can’t I’m going to lose it._

_*That’s what I’m here for, right?*_

“Remember, baby. Who comes first?”

“You,” Bucky grinds out through clenched teeth.

“When do you come?”

“ _When you say I can._ ”

Bucky has a love/hate with this game. He _loves_ to watch Steve use him, fuck himself on Bucky’s cock while Bucky is restrained. And he _hates_ it because it’s so goddamned hot and he’s not allowed to come inside Steve, not when Steve is in full Dom mode, and Steve _must_ know that his control is tenuous at best today because of the exhaustion, which means he’s testing Bucky on purpose, trying to see just how far he can push the Soldier.

So far, the Soldier has been able to meet every challenge, every limit Steve has thrown at him. And Steve doesn’t take losing very well.

“Mmm, so good for me. And so good _inside_ me.”

Steve rides him slowly, long teasing rolls of his hips that torment Bucky.

“Been thinking about this, baby. It’s been a while since you fucked me through the mattress. I missed feeling your cock in my ass. Then I got you all trussed up and just had to climb on, take what I wanted, you looked so good.”

The words are a blatant lie, intended to get a rise out of him, an attempt to get him to move when he’s not supposed to. He’d fucked Steve senseless not even two weeks ago, when he’d been in a rotten mood for one reason or another after a meeting and Bucky had taken him down, dragged him to their rooms in the tower and proceeded to destroy yet another set of sheets.

Steve’s hands are roaming over his own chest as he moves, caressing himself, teasing at a nipple before moving on, but never holding still until he leans back, bracing himself on Bucky’s calves. Bucky groans at the sight of his cock moving inside Steve’s abdomen. Steve is whimpering, moaning, making much more noise than normal and Bucky _knows_ it’s on purpose now.

_Shit, help._

_*On it. Enjoy the ride, pal.*_

_“Oh, there you are,_ ” Steve breathes.

Bucky knows that Steve can tell pretty quickly when he lets go, lets the Soldier take over, if he’s watching for it. He’s fairly sure that this is the fastest one yet, though, where Steve picked up on it almost instantly. He’s told Bucky that he goes more lax while at the same time becomes more rigid, which is how he can tell. It makes some sense, because certain parts of him _do_ relax more when the Soldier takes over, but he feels the shift internally in the set of his shoulders. Steve says it’s in his eyes, too, and he’s sure that that’s right.

Whatever the reason, once Bucky hands over control of his body to the Soldier, it’s like a switch flips in Steve as well. Bucky loves to see it, loves to see him let loose, unrestrained, concerned only with his own desires and taking everything he can from Bucky’s body.

Steve deserves it all.

Bucky _loves_ to see the peace on Steve’s face afterwards, loves the feeling of knowing he’s the one to give him that.

Now, he watches as Steve begins to fuck himself with abandon, slamming himself down on Bucky’s cock, and Bucky knows that with the angle he’s at, he’s forcing Bucky’s cock over his prostate every time. The only warning is a tightening of Steve’s hands on his legs, grip becoming vise-like moments before he cries out, stills his movements as his cock erupts, ropes of come painting his own chest as he pulses, his channel clenching around Bucky’s cock.

“Fuck, baby. That was so good. You’re so good for me.”

Steve slides off his cock and leans in over his body, hands braced on the headboard. 

“Think you’ve got a mess to clean up, don’t you?”

Bucky would whine, cry and beg because he didn’t come, but the Soldier is in charge so what comes out of his mouth instead is a ‘yes, sir’ before he stretches his head up to lick the come from Steve’s torso.

“Think you missed a spot,” Steve says, and there’s a smirk on his face as they look down to see the precome beading at the head of Steve’s cock, fat and ready to go again. The Soldier swallows and takes a deep breath before he opens his mouth and sticks his tongue out once more. Steve thrusts his hips, drives his cock into their mouth, and the Soldier instinctively closes his lips around the shaft.

“Watching you clean me got me all worked up again already, baby. Wouldn’t want to make another mess. You don’t mind helping me out with this, do you?”

The Soldier swallows again, this time around the thick length of Steve’s cock, and Steve groans.

“So good for me, baby. I knew you would. Thank you, sweetheart.”

One hand stays on the headboard for support, but Steve brings the other down to cup the back of their head, holding them still, and begins to fuck their mouth.

“Always loved to be in your mouth, fuck. Feels so good.”

Steve thrusts just the right side of rough, chokes him just enough, and tears gather at the corners of his eyes as he struggles for breath.

“Almost there, get ready, don’t spill any… _fuck, yes, take it…_ ” Steve groans, hand tight in his hair, legs locked firmly over him as he floods their throat. The Soldier swallows, has to, it’s that or choke, and if he spills any there will be trouble, so he milks the cock in his mouth for all he’s worth, swallows and swallows, swirls his tongue over as much of it as he can to clean it, chasing the tip as Steve pulls back.

“Fucking _hell_ , how do you keep getting even better at that?” he pants. Bucky and the Soldier both preen under the praise, happy to have pleased Steve so much.

“Let’s make you all pretty now, what do you say?” Steve lifts one of Bucky’s legs from the bed and attaches a strap to the buckle near Bucky’s knee. He then pulls the leg up, bending it back toward Bucky’s chest, and clips the strap to the headboard. He repeats the action with his other leg, so that Bucky ends up bent in half, legs pulled up and wide, presenting his ass.

Steve bends down and licks a long stripe from his asshole hole to the tip of his cock, and the Soldier clenches their jaw tightly, breathes heavily through his nose.

“Such a good boy, and you didn’t even get to come. I tell you what, Soldier. While I’m marking you up, you go ahead and come whenever you need to, okay?” He turns his head and bites down hard on his inner thigh, then kisses and soothes the spot with his tongue before repeating the action on his other leg. “After all, I’m up by two now.”

“ _Thank you, Sir._ ”

Steve’s large hand lands on his ass, a loud open-handed smack, and then he rakes his nails in towards the plug still snug in the Soldier’s hole.

For all the toys they have, Steve still prefers to do much of the work himself, with hands and teeth and tongue, when it’s a post-mission session. Bucky really can’t complain, he loves every touch of Steve’s skin on his, and knows the choice is deliberate for these moments. Toys and other implements cause more pain, and it’s easier to get carried away, make it feel more like a punishment, more like what he endured when he was _the Asset_ and not himself or the Soldier. This more intimate nature lets Steve gauge the Soldier’s reactions better, the constant close contact a balm to his shattered core instead of a barb, a reassurance to the Soldier that he’d done well. Each stinging slap or bite is soothed with lips and tongue, the pain-pleasure mix driving their desire and need higher. It’s during times like this when he understands all the fights Steve used to get into, so that Bucky could put him back together again.

Steve grabs hold of his scrotum and squeezes.

“Mmm, so heavy and full, aren’t you? Just dying to come? Go ahead, I told you it’s okay.” Steve pinches down hard on his perineum and Bucky cries out, gasping and shaking as the release tears through him.

 _“Thank you, sir,”_ the Soldier says, even as his body is already rebounding, cock returning to full hardness almost immediately.

Steve’s hand lands hard on his ass, right over the base of the plug, forcing it to rub against his prostate. Bucky moans, drops his head back into the pillow, and the Soldier clamps his jaw shut.

“ _Mmm_ , you’re gonna fight me on this today, huh Soldier? Not going to give in?” The sting of leather bites his tender skin, the tip of the crop striking the inner part of his thigh while the shaft falls across the plug. “Gonna make me push you?” Steve is relentless, each hit smacking across their hole, tormenting their prostate.

“ _Need it,”_ the Soldier rasps out finally.

Steve pauses, looks down at the Soldier, studies them. Steve’s breathing heavily but not panting, not exerting himself too hard.

“Tell me exactly what it is that you think you need, _Soldier.”_

Bucky just needs the voices to stop. Unfortunately, it’s not the screams of the innocents that are truly haunting him. It’s the Soldier’s ghosts who won’t let him calm.

“ _Need to know… That I was good. That I am still good. Can be…that I did good.”_

The voices who need to be silenced are the ghosts of HYDRA and STRIKE, not the terrified kids on a school trip. Most days the Soldier can ignore those voices, tell them why they are wrong.

Today is not one of those days.

Today, the Soldier needs to know that Steve is pleased with them, _so_ happy with his performance, that he did everything that Steve had wanted.

Growling, Steve reaches forward and rips the straps from the headboard, snapping the metal clips in his haste to free their legs.

The plug is next to go, pulled out with barely restrained anger, and the Soldier goes still.

 _I’m sorry. I fucked up_ , he tells Bucky, and closes their eyes. He won’t make Bucky watch Steve punish them.

* _He’s not mad, please, listen, everything is okay!*_

_Then why is he FREEING us? He’s angry. I failed._

The straps on his legs are torn away.

“Look at me!” Steve orders, and the Soldier opens his eyes. “You did _so_ well, Soldier. You were perfect. You _are_ perfect.”

_“I failed. Team members were injured. Too many people died. My new directives are to protect and save and I failed. And now I have failed this, haven’t pleased you.”_

“God _damn_ it. I wish I could kill them all again,” Steve curses before lunging for the headboard. A quick tug releases the rope, and then he’s deactivating the cuffs, flinging them across the room.

“Listen to me, Soldier. You fought better than anyone else on the team. You saved my ass at least three times that I’m aware of, which means there’s probably more.”

The Soldier closes his eyes again, turns his face away, buries it in his arm—he hasn’t brought his arms down, still holds his hands firmly clamped around the headboard.

Steve growls again, grabs his chin painfully and forces his face forward. The Soldier swallows, opens his eyes slowly. For all the restraint he can feel in Steve’s body pinning him down, his eyes and voice remain soft.

“You did everything we needed and then some. I am _proud_ of the job you did. I was _impressed_ with you. I am _pleased_ with your performance. You _are_ enough. You _did_ enough.”

Steve entered him slowly, gliding gently and smoothly in. He’d been so consumed with his failure that he hadn’t even noticed Steve slicking himself up.

“Breathe, sweetheart,” Steve tells him, loosening the hold on his chin.

The Soldier sucks in a ragged breath, tears streaming silently from his eyes as if freed by Steve’s command. He whimpers when Steve dips his face to kiss tenderly at the hot trails, lips feeling like a brand on his cheeks.

“You were perfect,” Steve whispers as he slowly moves his hips back and forth, rocking into him.

“There’s nobody else I’d rather have at my side in a fight.” A gentle hand caresses the Soldier’s arm, strokes down his side to his hip, and catches his leg by the back of the thigh, hitching it around Steve’s waist.

A strangled moan is punched out of the Soldier as his body begins to tremble.

Bucky is strangely quiet.

_Where are you? This is your domain, not mine._

There’s no response, but he can feel the other half of his mind there with him, watching and feeling, refusing to come forward.

“Soldier,” Steve breathes against his lips before brushing the faintest of kisses to them. The Soldier forces himself to focus, to meet Steve’s even gaze as he lifts his head.

“I love you, Soldier.”

He comes with a sob tearing from his chest.

 _“No, no, no,_ ” he cries, shaking his head vehemently in the negative.

“I love you, Soldier,” Steve repeats, not slowing his hips.

“ _You don’t, you can’t, I’m not…_ ” he runs out of words, out of thought, as another orgasm inexplicably tears through him on the heels of the last one.

“I love you,” Steve says one more time, swallowing any protests with his lips on the Soldier’s, a soft moan and the stilling of his body the only indication that he’d come again, too.

The Soldier breaks down, wraps his arms around Steve’s large shoulders, buries his face in Steve’s neck. The next thing he becomes aware of is lying on his side, curled into Steve as he runs a hand soothingly up and down the Soldier’s back, whispering soft praises into his ear. He sucks in a deep breath and Steve presses a kiss to the top of his head.

“ _Thank you.”_ His voice is barely more than a raw whisper, his throat still feeling clogged.

Steve tightens his arms in response, an awkward hug given their positioning, but it makes the Soldier hum in appreciation.

 _Thank you, too,_ he tells Bucky.

 _*I could see that it wasn’t working. But knew you wouldn’t believe me. You’re as stubborn as he is. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that Steve won’t back down, especially not when it’s_ us _on the line. So I let him do what needed to be done.*_

_I don’t deserve love._

_*Not going to stop him from loving you all the same. You’re part of me. I’m part of you. He loves us in our entirety.*_

The Soldier burrows further into Steve’s chest, sniffling just a bit.

 _Jesus these tits are so big, you’d think they’d at least be soft._ He gets a laugh in response.

“ _Steve?”_ the Soldier asks hesitantly.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“ _I_ …” he pauses, the words trapped in his throat. He brings a hand up between them, presses it to Steve’s chest over his heart.

“It’s okay, Soldier. I know.”

“ _Punk,”_ he says with a sigh.

A chuckle vibrates through Steve’s body.

“Not like you call me ‘Steve’ on the regular. I know, Soldier.”

“ _I’m…I need to go now.”_

_*It’s okay. I’ve got you, pal.*_

Steve tucks a finger under his chin, tips his head back so he can see him.

“Thank you for everything you did, Soldier. We are all proud of you.”

He presses a kiss to the Soldier’s forehead, and the Soldier closes his eyes.

With a contented sigh, Bucky melts into Steve’s arms.

“Get the blanket, dumbass. I’m cold.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> before you start yelling at me in the comments....yes this really is done. I've argued with these idiots about it, but they have nothing further to tell me about their relationship -- including not wanting to share their wedding with us ((what the HELL???)) -- and this chapter was fight to get to the finish. I'm sad to be done, but also happy to move on to more new fics. Thank you for coming on this crazy journey with me!

**Author's Note:**

> come yell at me on tumblr!
> 
> <https://hanitrash.tumblr.com/>
> 
> also, check out my published stuff? pretty please?
> 
> [https://www.amazon.com/Loralynne-Summers/](https://www.amazon.com/Loralynne-Summers/e/B00RC8DGGS?ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1&qid=1577730376&sr=8-1)


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